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APR 30 1898 . 



THE MEDICINE MAN 



BY 

H. D. TRAILL 

AND 

ROBERT HICHENS 



THE MEDICINE MAN 



H. D. TRAILL 

AND 

ROBERT HICHENS 




-',vncnp!FSRECE!VED» 






G035 



Copyright i8g8, in the United States of America, 

According to Act of Congress. 

By Henry Irving. 

[A a rights reserved. ] 



THE DE VINNE PRESS, NEW YORK, U. 8. A. 



PERSONS IN THE PLAY. 



Lord Belhurst 

Colonel Anson 

Canon Slade-Smith 

Algernon Warrington 

Dr. Tregenna 

Dr. Rainham 

Sir Clement Hope 

Captain Stopton 

Mr. Grayston 

Bill Burge 

Sam Cheeseman 

Joe Green 

Charley Tagg 

Carrots 

Tommy Long 

Lady Agatha Warrington 

Mrs. Culling 

Hon. Miss Drake 

Lady Mary Mayne 

Dora Bell 

Mrs. Burge 

Hon. Sylvia Wynford 



ACT I. 

Scene, — TJie Lecture Hall and Reading Room of 
" University House " : a settlement for the poor of East 
London. Time, p p. m. ; a wild night in March ; 
a snow storm raging without. A t intervals during the 
scene men enter the hall through door c, which they 
shut with difficulty after them, kicking the snow from 
their heavy boots. The lecture platform to R. of stage 
consists of a low dais but one step above the floor, and 
is furnished with the usual reading-desk, lamp, and 
water-carafe with glass. At L. end of the room, facing 
the platform, a large open fireplace with fire burning. 
A n East-end audAence of the usual type seated on benches 
at back of room and at round tables on which are 
newspapers and empty coffee-cups. A clear space in 
C. of stage so that door c. is in uninterrupted view. 
On wall to the R. of it a birdcage containing a canary. 
Close to the fireplace at back sits BILL BuRGE, a huge 
ruffi.an, in a drunken stupor, with his elbows on one of 
the round tables and his head buried in his arms. At 
the reading-desk. Canon Slade-Smith, On the plat- 
form at his side, Mr. Algernon and Lady Agatha 
Warrington, and one or two other fashionable 
visitors. 

Canon. \_With unction.'^ And now, my very dear 
friends, in conclusion of my lecture to-night, one word — 
one simple, homely, and, I venture to trust, blessed 

5 



word ! My theme has been ^^The power of the human 
will for good or evil.'' Let us never forget that the very 
humblest among us is endowed with this mysterious 
power, and can exercise it upon others. Let us all 
beware, then, of using this faculty to the hurt of those 
around us. 

\A faint clapping of hands and stamping of heavy 
boots is heard. A pause of a few seconds, 
after which Canon Slade-Smith bends 
towards Mr. Algernon Warrington and 
whispers in his ear. 

Mr. W. [Alarmed.'] Oh, come, I say, Canon ! I didn't 
bargain for that, I assure you ! Ton my honour, never 
said a word, except at a hunt breakfast, or a comin' of 
age, or that sort of thing. 

Lady A. Don't be so absurd, Algernon. You know 
you can speak beautifully when you like. 

Mr. W. Oh, well, if I must — h'm ! — ha ! Er — {clears 
his throat] — Ladies and Gentlemen 

Canon. [Aside to him, hurriedly i\ One moment, Mr. 
Warrington ; would you mind addressing them as " My 
friends " ; it sounds so much more human, don't you 
think ? 

Mr. IV. Eh! What? Oh, certainly; with the 
greatest pleasure. I have been — er — requested, ladies 
and — I mean, my friends, to say a few words on 
Canon Slade-Smith's most interesting lecture. I'm 
sure we have all listened to it with the greatest 
pleasure and — er — profit. I — er — won't attempt to add 
anything to what the lecturer has said about the great 
will-power of the — er — the human will 

Canon. [Leaning towards him.] For good or evil. 

Mr. W. I beg your pardon ? 

Canon. For grood or evil. 



Mr. IV. Exactly— for good or evil, and how we may 
all learn to strengthen it by exertin' it continually on — 
er — on something or other. I'm sure we must all feel 
that the human will is a very wonderful and powerful 
thing — er — especially when it is a woman's. [A laugh. 

Lady A. \_Severely^ Algernon, you are on the verge 
of becoming vulgar. 

Mr. W. [Disconcerted.'] But of course our very dear 
friend the Canon has gone much deeper into these 
things than I can pretend to have done. I am sure he 
has given us all a great deal to think about, and I will 
therefore conclude these few remarks by assurin' you all 
of the great pleasure it has given Lady Agatha and 
myself to have been present to-night at this gatherin', 
with — er — er — its knittin' together of classes and — er — 
promotin' that common feelin' of friendliness among all 
classes which — er — we must all feel that we ought to 
feel towards each other. 

[Lady Agatha Warrington rises ; the others 
follow her example. 

Capt. S. Well done, Warrington ! Had no idea you 
were so ready. He ought to be in the House, eh. Lady 
Agatha ? The House needs such men — what ? 

Lady A. [Coldly. 'j The House already possesses an 
abundance of such men, I believe. So sorry we are 
obliged to go, dear Canon Slade-Smith, and miss the 
discussion of your charming lecture. But such a 
dreadful night, and one of the horses coughing this 
morning, I really am afraid to. Good night ! Good 
night ! I suppose we shall see you at Lord Belhurst's 
ball? 

Cation. [Embarrassed.'] Er — h'm — ^^^^ night. [Aside 
to Lady Agatha WARRINGTON.] I think it better to keep 
my occasional — my very occasional — gaieties from these 



humble folk. The painful sense of contrast, you know, 
dear Lady Agatha. Good night, good night. 

[^Bowiftg her out. Exeunt party. 

Canon. And now, my friends, which of you will open 
the discussion on the subject of my lecture ? \A silence^ 
Is there anything in what I have said which you would 
like to have explained to you? [^Continued silence.^ I 
hope you have all thoroughly grasped my main pro- 
position, that the will of man is — under Providence 
[unctuously^ — the paramount power of the world; and 
that when directed by faith it can, like faith, move 
mountains. [Silence continues.'] Let me illustrate my 
meaning by an example. I will take the case of a man 
well known to most of those who hear me, and I am 
sure beloved for his untiring labours in your service. 
[Slight movement ainong the Canon's auditory^ On how 
many an errand of mercy has Dr. Tregenna visited the 
courts and alleys of this district ! How many among you — 
a — a — among us, with faculties besotted and health un- 
dermined with drink and debauchery, has he rescued either 
from death itself or from worse than death — from lives 
haunted by the phantoms which your own — a — a — our 
own vices and evil habits have raised up ! Yet his treat- 
ment of mental maladies in that home of his at Hamp- 
stead, where, as you know, he receives all poor patients 
free of charge, is itself purely mental. His cures seem 
like miracles ? Are they not indeed a [A half- 
suppressed laugh from 07ie of the audience.] What was 
that expression of opinion ? Did I catch a note of dissent ? 
[Murmurs in the quarter from which the laugh 
proceeded. 

Joe Green. Shut yer 'ed, Sam! 

Charley Tagg. Let 'im speak, carn't yer ? 

Carrots. ' E knows more'n you think ! 

Sam. [A little costermonger, seated at one of the back 



tables, iiidignantly to the friends %vJio are trying to repress 
kirn.'] Dr. Tregenna and his merrikles ! Haw ! haw ! 
[/« a louder voiee.'] Wot are yer givin' us, guv'nor ? 

Canon. \_Bla7idly.'\ What am I giving you, my friend ? 
A simple statement of facts. But if you have anything 
to say against it, step forward Hke an honest, manly 
fellow, as I am sure you are, and speak out. 

\_AIass movement at back. Attempts are made 
to push Sam Cheeseman to the front. 

Sam. [Angrily.'^ Oo are yer shovin' of? Think I 
want to get run in for deformin' the bloke's carrickter? 
[Sam Cheesemais! is thrust forwa7'd into the open 
space in the middle of the room, and stands there, 
sheepish but dogged, awaiting questions. 

Canon. Why, it's Samuel Cheeseman ! Samuel, you 
surprise me ! You, of all men, to question Dr. Tregenna's 
powers ! You knew Susan Minch. Come, I have seen 
you walking out with her on Sundays. Well, didn't Dr. 
Tregenna cure Susan Minch's fits ? 

Sam.. \_Sulhily.'] Ah ! he did that. 

Canon. He did? And yet you 

Sam. [^Mysteriously.'] Just you wite a bit for Susan 
Minch. 

Canon. Wait a bit for Susan Minch ? What on earth 
do you mean ? 

Sam. \_Darkly.~\ She ain't a-goin' to make old bones, 
Susan ain't ; I seen that the fust day after she came 
back. 

Caiion. [Scornfully^ Susan Minch ! She is only one 
of dozens and scores of sufferers from every kind of brain 
trouble who have passed through the doctor's hands 
during the last three years and have returned to their 
friends sane and sound as the best of you. 

Sam. Wot d'yer say ? For the last three years ? 
Show us any cove as he cured three years ago. 



Canon. \After a momenfs refiectioit.'\ Well, Job 
Nevins, the dock labourer. Dr. Tregenna took him to 
Hampstead the day after he attempted his life in a fit of 
melancholy mania, and sent him back in three or four 
months as right in his head as you are. That must 
have been fully three years ago, and Job only died the 
other day. 

Sam. That's just it, Guv'nor ! Do they, any on 'em, 
live long arter they come out of that there bloomin' 
Retreat? And [^still more gloomily'] do they, any on 
'em, like to talk about what they went through while 
they wos there ? I tell yer, it's the same with all of 
them. A cove 'as a touch of the 'orrors from too much 
booze, or he gets a fit of the miserables from listening 
to the Salvation Army, and just then the Doctor turns up 
on one of his " arrands of mercy," as you call 'em — 
haw ! haw ! rum sort of arrands on that lay, they are — 
and he says, " I see wot's the matter with you, my man. 
You come along o' me an' be cured ! " And somehow — 
[dropping his voice] — somehow, they 'as to go. 

Canon. Well, but if they come out sound in their 
brains 

Sam. [Contemptuotisly.'] Sound in their brines, says 
you. Why, they ain't got 'ardly any brines to be sound 
in. They're like mopin' idjits 'arf their time ; and they 
just get lower and lower till they go out like a bloomin' 
lamp when the ile runs dry. 

Cation. But, good heavens ! what do you suggest 
happens to them under the Doctor's hands ? What, in 
the name of common sense, do you think he takes them 
in for ? 

Sam. [Retiring sulkily within himself.'] Oh, I d'n' 
know ! 'Tain't none of my business. I ain't a-goin' 
to get myself into trouble by 

Canon. Oh ! if you're too much of a coward, Sam 

lO 



Cheeseman, to do more than hint at charges you are 
afraid to 

Sam. \_Desperately.'] Who says I'm afraid ? Well 
then, if you ask me what he 'unts up patients down 
here for, I says it's to play his doctor's tricks on 'em, to 
practise his pretty igsperiments on 'em — same as they 
do on us poor blokes at the 'orspitals. 

Canoji. \Indignantly^ The same as they do at the 
hospitals ! Oh, so that's it, is it ? Come, my 
friends ! you hear what this man's vile suspicions 
are, and I am sure you will join with me in declaring 
them with one indignant voice as groundless as they 
are wicked. \A sombre silence.^ What! not one of you 
with the grace to say that you believe in your unwearied 
benefactor ? 

Mrs. B. \A thin, wiry working woman, with a 
shrewd, humorous face and a well-marked black eye, stands 
up at one of the front tables. '\ Yes, Mr. Canon, I does. 
And I only wish I could send the doctor one patient as I 
knows on. 

Canon. And who is that ? 

Mrs. B. My 'usband. Bill Burge. 

\_A volley of hoarse guffaws. 

Joe Green. Oh, lor' ! Bill Burge ! 

Carrots. Haw ! haw ! that's a good 'un ! 

Tommy Long. Blimy ! why, if the doctor can cure 'im ! 

Canon. {Mildly^ Who is this Bill Burge ? I don't 
seem to recollect his name as a regular attendant at our 
lectures. \More giffaws. 

Sam. No, Guv'nor, I should rather think you don't. 
Lectures, says you. What do yer say, pals ? Do you 
think Bill Burge is takin' any ? \_Another roar. 

Mrs. B. {^Excitedly.'] Yes, you may laugh, fellers. 
It ain't no laughin' matter for me. Look at him a 
layin' there stoopid drunk. \_Points to BILL BURGE.] 

II 



And lucky for me he is, or he'd soon be makin' this — 
[touching her black eye'\ — into a lovely pair. 

Tommy Long. \Jn a high piping tone and quick, brisk 
utterance.'] 'Ow'd you get 'im here, missus ? 

Carrots. I seen him at the " Bag o' Nails " a 'our ago 
well on. 

Airs. B. He thought I was a-takin' him to the 
" Bargeman's Rest," where he ain't got so big a score. 
[Another laugh.'] But, oh, Mr. Canon — [excitedly'] — I 
I wish you and the Doctor could do suthin to 'elp a pore 
woman. I got to take 'im 'ome again as best I can, 
after this, and he'll begin bashin' me as soon as ever he 
wakes to-morrow morning. 

Bill. [ Who has raised his head during the last speech^ 
and has been showing sights of returning consciousness.] 
Wot do yer say ? [Rising to his feet and speaking in a 
fiercer tone.] To-morrow morning ? It'll be before that, 
yer sneakin' cat. [Shaking his fist at her.] Ah, I 
'eard yer — tellin' tales again. 

Mrs. B. [Frightened.] Gam ! I warn't tellin' no tales. 

Bill. [With increasing fury.] It's a lie, you she-devil. 
I 'eard yer, I tell yer ; and if I don't stop yer blarsted 

mouth for good and all this time I'm 

[Catches up poker. 

Carrots. Easy, Bill. Keep your shirt in ! 

Tommy Long. 'Ands off the missus ! 

[A few of the men crowd timidly roujtd him, 
endeavouring to soothe him. He dashes 
through them with an oath and makes for 
Mrs. BuRGE, upsetting tables in his way. 

Sam. [In a wheedling voice.] Now, I say, lookee 'ere. 
Bill 

Bill. Out o' the w'y, you 'aporth of rotten carrots. 

[Trips up Sam Cheeseman and flings him 
heavily to the ground, 

12 



Canon. \Feehly interposing^ Come, come, my good 
man, this violence won't do here. You must control 

your 

[Bill Burge pushes him aside and rushes 
towards door c, on the R. of which his wife 
stands cowering. The crowd parts asunder, 
huddling together to get out of his way. Just 
as he is about to pass in front of the door it 
is suddenly thrown open, and a tall figure, 
wrapped in a fur coat, is seen standing, 
framed in the doorway against a background 
of darkness and driving snow. It is Dr. 
Tregenna. He stands for a moment on the 
threshold, his eyes fixed intently on Bill 
Burge, who remains as if petrified, with the 
poker raised above his head. 
Tregenna. \_Coolly^ Good evening, Canon. 
Canon. \Agitated^ My dear Tregenna, you come at 
the most fortunate moment. 

Tregenna. So it seems. A patient of mine, to all ap- 
pearance, and in a highly critical stage of his complaint too. 
[//<? fixes his eyes steadfastly on BURGE, who sullenly and 
shrinkingly returns his gaze, the poker still half up-raised 
in his hand."] But — excuse me, my man — you seem a 
little out of your bearings. The fireplace is over there. 
\_Points to it with a sudden gesture of command. BuRGE 
gradually lowers the poker, slinks back to the fireplace, and 
resumes his former seat. A murmur of admiring astonish- 
ment from Crowd. Eyes his retreating figure for a few mo- 
ments, and then, with a slight laugh and shrug of the shoul- 
ders, turns to the birdcage on R. of door ^ Aha ! my tiny 
friend ! still keeping the same unbirdHke hours, eh ? Ca- 
non, you really ought to cover up this poor little wretch at 
night. He's getting quite a dissipated look. Well, little 
mite, as they will keep you up so late, I've brought you 

13 



your supper, as usual. Sweet! sweet! sweet! \Takes piece 
of sugar from his pocket and introduces it between the bars. 
Then, after watching the bird a few inojnetits longer, scats 
himself at table nearest platform.'] Hardly a favourable 
specimen of one of your " Happy Evenings for the 
People," this, eh, Canon ? 

Cation. No ; but that fellow with the poker is not one 
of our regular guests. That's Bill Burge, I'm told — one 
of the most desperate ruffians in London, and this un- 
happy victim of his is 

Tregenna. \_Stopping him with a raised hand and a 
smile.] My dear Canon, don't trouble to introduce us. A 
ruffian — a poker — and a woman : the situation proclaims 
the connection. How do you do, Mrs. Burge ? 

Mrs. B. [In a depressed tone.] Only middlin', thank 
you, sir. You see I don't 'ave a very rosy time of it with 
Bill there. 

Tregenna. Not very rosy ? No ; so I should suppose. 
[Looking at her contused ej/e.] Black and blue seems 
more the colour-scheme, doesn't it ? 

Mrs. B. [Carelessly.] Oh, that ? That's nothin' ! I 
wish he never did no worse than that ! 'Tain't his 
fists I'm afraid of — [pressing her hand unconsciously on 
her side] — it's his boots. 

Tregenna. Ah, no doubt. And is he as ready with 
them as he is with his fists and the fire-irons ? 

Mrs. B. [Slightly aggrieved^ Law, no, sir ! Bill 
ain't quite as sperited as that. Bill has always bashed 
me — special just before an attack of the 'orrors, and 
he's 'ad 'em three times now. When he's reg'lar down 
with them and sees rats and black beadles, I gets a little 
'oliday. But now, sir, now, since his last fit of 'em — 
[with a tremor in her voice] — I've got to be more fright- 
ened of him after they've gone. 

Tregenna. [Suddenly interested and dropping his former 

14 



tone of cynical indifference 7\ Eh? What's that ? Say that 
again ! 

Mrs. B. \Alarmed7\ Oh, don't speak so loud, sir. If 
Bill 'eard me tellin' tales out of school, as he calls it, 
he'd murder me. 

Tregenna. \_Impatiently.'\ Tut, tut, woman! Answer my 
questions. 

Mrs. B. Well, he ain't done nothing yet since his last 
'orrors till he broke out this afternoon. But — but — \in 
an awed voice"] — he's awful to be with — talks to hisself 
at nights, and in the daytime sits for hours starin' at 
nothin', and sometimes don't seem to know me when I 
speak to him. And — and — [with a catch in her breath'] 
— I feel when he's took like that I'd rather a 'undred 
times he'd begin 'ammerin' me again : it would seem 
more natural like. Oh, sir, can't you cure him ? 

[Bursts into tears. 

Tregenna. [Roughly.] What's the woman blubbering 
about ? Has he any delusions ? 

Mrs. B. [Whimpering.] Any what, sir? 

Tregenna. Does he fancy things ? Does he hear voices? 
Did he ever tell you that people were following him ? 

Mrs. B. [Eagerly^ Yes, yes ! He said so only the 
day before yesterday, and 

Bill. [ Who has slouched unsteadily up to the groups 
'Ere, there's enough of this jaw, missus. [Looking 
suspiciously from one to the other.] What's she been a- 
puttin' into you, guv'nor, about me ? 

Tregenna. [ With instantaneous change to geniality^ My 
good Mr. Burge, why should an experienced doctor 
require anything to be put into him about you ? You 
are suffering, Mr. Burge, from the malady of the age — 
over-excitement. You're quite in the fashion, I assure 
you. 

Bill. What do you mean by ? 

3 15 



Tregenna. Let me prescribe for you. You want three 
months' complete rest from all business whatsoever, say 
at my little sanatorium, the Retreat, Hampstead. That's 
what I recommend. Nay — \sta7iding up and speaking 
with sudden emphasis\ — I orderit. Excuse the peremptory 
word, a purely professional use of it, of course. 

[ Their eyes meet and they remain gazing at each 
other for a few moments. 
Bill. [ Withdrawing his eyes from Dr. Tregenna's 

with a manifest effort^ I'll be d d if I do. I'll see you 

and your bloomin' sannytorium. — 'Ere, come along, you. 
\_Seizing Mrs. BURGE roughly by the arm.'\ I'll 'ave no 
more of this kiddin'. Come along, I say. 

[Flings out of the door, draggifig his wife after 

him. 

Sam. {^Derisively.'} Ha ! ha ! Bill done him, yer see ! 

Thort he would. Where's yer merrikles now, guv'nor ? 

Tregenna. \_Suddenly turning a7id facing him with an 

assumed air of sternness. '\ What's that you're saying, you 

little rascal ? 

[Sam Cuy.Y.SEM.K^ flinches and appears inclined 
to slink off, when the Canon stops him. 
Canon. No, no, don't retire, Samuel. 

[Crowd, scenting fun in prospect, begin to gather 
round. 
Tommy Long. Buck up, Sammy! 
Carrots. Gaw'n! Ain't his legs a-shikin'! 
Joe Green. Buck up ! Don't let 'em say you ain't 
gyme! 

Sam. [With an effort.^ Who says I ain't gyme ? 'E 
may do as he likes with the pore blokes in his 'ome, but 
I ain't afraid of any of his larks 'ere. 

Tregenna. [Approaching him and speaking in soleinn 
tones.'] What, sir, do you mean to tell me that you would 

i6 



dare to commit the contents of that skull of yours to a 
scientific examination. 

\JProdiices a stethoscope from his coat pocket. 
Sam. [Starting, but a moment afterwards reassured^ 
Stow kiddin', guv'nor. That's the thing they tries your 
'art with. 

Tregenna. Your heart, Mr. Cheeseman, needs no try- 
ing. I believe it is an excellent one. What I have my 
doubts about is your head. Have you the courage to 
let that be tested ? \_Sam visibly hesitates. 

Charley Tagg. Now then, Sammy. 
Carrots. Blowed if he 'arf likes it. 

Joe Green. Sit down, Sammy, and let the doctor try 
your chump. 

[Sam is forced unwillingly into a chair, where 
he is held down by two grinning friends. TRE- 
GENNA gravely proceeds to apply the instrument 
to various points of the mans cranium, listen- 
ing at the other end and mysteriously waving 
his unoccupied hand the while. Sam submit- 
ting with plai7tly increasing trepidation. 
Tregenna. \_Suddejily, and in a louder voice.'\ Are 
you ready ? 

Tommy Long. Take care, Sammy. He's a-goin' to 
blow down it. 

[Tregenna, as if struck by the notion, makes as 

though he would do so. Sam bounds to his feet, 

upsetting the chair, and snatching up his cap, 

makes his exit, followed by the jeering crowd. 

Tregenna pockets the stethoscope and flings 

himself into a chair, with a dry cacklijig laugh. 

Canon. \Half amused, half shocked.'] What pitiable 

ignorance. I wonder, Tregenna, that you have the heart 

to play upon it. 

Tregenna. My dear Canon, would you have me give up 

17 



my profession ? Besides, is ignorance so much more 
helpless in the East than in the West ? If you can 
frighten it in Whitechapel with a stethoscope, you can 
terrify it in Mayfair with a Greek name for a new disease. 

Canon. Well, Burge at any rate was not to be 
frightened. The man certainly seemed an eminently 
suitable subject for your treatment. 

Tregenna. Suitable ? I should think so. Quite an 
ideal case of incipient homicidal mania — quite ideal. 
\_Mtisingly ^ Quite ideal. 

Canon. Still, after all, there seems more of the hungry 
tiger than the insane human about that wretch, and it is 
hardly surprising that your powers should not extend to 
the brute creation. 

Tregenna. Oh, no. I have tamed many a human tiger as 
savage as Mr. Burge, though none, perhaps, with quite 
so huge and heavy a paw. 

Canon. Ah, yes, but then I presume you managed to 
keep them within the influence of your presence. And 
this particular wild beast has escaped from the charmed 
circle. 

Tregenna. \_After a pause — very quietly^ Sometimes 
they return to it. 

Canon. Return to it ! How is that ? \Innocently^ 
Oh, perhaps their wives persuade them. 

Tregenna. Their wives ? well, yes. \With quiet irony ^ 
Perhaps it is their wives. When the tiger who has 
escaped into the jungle returns to you, apparently of his 
own accord, let us ascribe it to the gentle influence of 
his mate. 

Canon. But do you expect to see this tiger back again ? 

Tregenna. [^Carelessly.'] Who knows ? 

Canon. What ! When he has once got back to his 
jungle, as you call it. Do you know what that jungle is 
like? 



Tregenna. I think so. Have I not just passed through 
it ? Have I not traversed it a score of times on nights 
like this, till I know it as Dante knew that circle of his 
hell where the fire- flakes fell eternally as the snow is 
falling to-night? \Goes to window and throws it open. 
The dull fmirmur of London is heard, and the snow is 
seen falling steadily without. Tregenna leans on the 
sill of the window^ The East End ! It is our Inferno, 
Canon; and peopled with darker figures, swarming with 
ghastlier horrors, than the great poet ever dreamed or 
feigned. \The shriek of a woinafi, followed by the fierce 
growl of a man's voice, is heard without^ Do you hear 
the voices of the demons ? — Listen ! 

\The shriek is repeated, and dies away into a 
low wailing. 

Canon. Dear, dear ! Yes, it's all very distressing. 

Tregenna. Think of it and its miles of misery on a 
bitter winter night. Think of its wretched multitudes 
writhing between the double fangs of frost and want ; 
hunger crouching by its black and empty grate; drunk- 
enness gathering in its recruits of cold ; vice perishing 
at its roadside trade, and only crime paralysed into 
harmlessness, like a frozen snake. Think of the sorrows 
of our Inferno. [An organ strikes up a waltz tune in tJie 
distance^ And think of its joys. Which are the more 
lamentable ? Ah ! [ With a sweep of his arm round him.'\ 
What, in God's name, is life worth to these ? What — 
[abruptly restraijiitig himself '\ — but you are quite right, 
Canon ; our jungle, as we have called it, is in reality a 
hell from which few of its victims can extricate them- 
selves on mere invitation. 

Cation. [With a sigh.'] Ah, yes, doctor; it is a terrible 
problem, the condition of our East End poor. So much 
the more is it the duty of those who enjoy the cultured 

19 



charm and repose of our West End life to do what in 
them Ues to alleviate the lot of 

Tregenna. \_Sardo7iically ^ What in them lies. And 
what does lie in them ? As much as lies in one mor- 
tally sick man to cure another. My good friend, the 
West End square and the East End rookery are both 
wards of the same hospital. 

Canon. {Startled^ God bless me. You mean that 

Tregenna. \With sinister meaning.'^ I mean that I 
seek my subjects — I should say my patients — with per- 
fect impartiality among poor and rich, and that the rich 
supply me with as many, nay, with more than the 
poor. 

Canon. [Weakly. "] True, true! The rich have their 
troubles. 

Tregenna. [Sternly^ Ay, and they are as good food 
for science too. And science is merciless 

Canofi. You mean merciful, doctor ? 

Tregenna. Yes, yes ; I see you understand me. 

[Rises and walks to the fireplace, where he stands 
for a moment resting his arm on the mantel- 
piece, then seats himself and lapses into a 
profound reverie. 

Canon. Perfectly, perfectly ; and not the least among 
the troubles of the rich are those of which you, doctor, 
see most — those mysterious brain diseases which are so 
terribly rife in these days. I know of a most distressing 
case of the kind in the family of my very dear friend, 
Lord Belhurst. Do you know him ? His daughter, 
a beautiful creature, and engaged to be married 
to the new Victoria Cross hero, Colonel Anson, of 
Afridi fame, who is on his way home — and now we 
fear that she — [looking up and noticing Tregenna's 
abstractio7i\ — ah, he is not listening. Pondering some 
scientific problem, I suppose. [Looks at his watch.~\ Ten 

20 



o'clock. I mustn't burn gas at this rate. Charity 
must be economical. \_Bustles fussily about the room, 
lowering the gas, arranging the tables for the night, etc. 
Pauses for a moment in reflection^ Oh ! and my sub- 
scription book — I was nearly forgetting to lock up my 
subscription book. \Takes book off reading-desk^ I will 
be back in a moment, Doctor. \_Noticing Tregenna's 
abstracted air.'\ What ? Still waiting for your tiger 
to return ? Ha, ha ! [ Walks to window and looks out. 
Sound of wind moaning without. Closing window^ 
Really, I don't think you need expect him. The 
night's cold enough to kill not merely a tiger but a 
wolf. Ha, ha ! 

\Laughs foolishly and exit. A silence broken 
only by the dropping of the coals, and the 
faint sound of the ivind outside. Tregenna 
continues to sit in the same dreaming atti- 
tude before the fire, its light playing upon 
his haggard face. The latch of the door is 
gently lifted ; the door opens, and Bill 
Burge, stepping stealthily into the room, 
stands for a few moments irresolute, and then 
slowly approaches the fireplace till he stands 
within the circle of the light. Tregenna 
looks up and sees BURGE standing before him. 
At this moment Canon Slade-Smith re- 
enters, and starts back in astonishment. 
Tregenna. \_Quietly.'] You see, my tiger has returned 
from the jungle after all ! 

Curtain. 



21 



ACT II. 

Three Weeks Later. 

Scene. — Lord Belhursfs house in Mayfair. A large 
conservatory stocked with choice flowers, towering 
palms, etc., and furnished with seats, lounges, small 
tables, and so forth, after the fashioji of a winter 
garden. At back is seen one ettd of a brilliantly 
lighted ball-room opening into the conservatory , from 
which it is divided only by a couple of marble col- 
umns. Curtain drawing up. 

[^Discovers Mrs. CULLING and Lady Agatha 
Warrington seated on settee to right of 
stage. A waltz is in progress, the music of 
which is faintly heard from the further end 
of the ball-room throughout the conversation. 
At frequejit intervals some couple or other 
straying beyond the strict limits of the danc- 
ing floor, ivaltz round one of the two col- 
umns and twirl their way back into the 
hall-room. 

Lady A. Delightfully cool here, isn't it ? 

Mrs. C. It is ; but I don't myself much like sitting in 
a conservatory at a ball. You feel so much in the way. 

Lady A. What, here ? Not in the way of the dancers, 
surely ? 

Mrs. C. No, of the couples who don't want to 
dance. We have already scared away quite half a 
dozen girls who wanted to " sit out " with ineligible young 

22 



men. It makes one feel like a sort of universal 
chaperon ; and nothing ages one so rapidly as feeling 
universal, 

[Mr. Warrington waltzes round one of the 
columns with the exaggerated stremiousness 
of a middle-aged man mated with a youth- 
ful partner. 

How well Mr. Warrington waltzes ! 

Lady A. \Incredulously ^ Well ? 

Mrs. C. Well, let us say — how energetically. 

Lady A. [Frigidly. '\ He usually chooses the most 
youthful and active partner he can find, and as they 
don't know how stiff he is in the knees the next morning, 
they think him quite young — for his age. 

[Sir Clement Hope and Miss Dora Bell 
waltz round the column. 

Mrs. C. Mr. Warrington won't suffer from his exertions 
as that young giant will, or, at any rate, as he will tell 
you he does, to-morrow morning. 

Lady A. Sir Clement Hope, why, what's the matter 
with him ? 

Mrs. C. Fifteen stone of shattered nerves, my dear, 
according to his own account. And six feet of anaemia. 
All our smart young men are at death's door nowadays 
— when they are not at the other door. 

Lady A. The other door? 

Mrs. C. The stage door, my dear! 

Lady A. Who is the girl dancing with him ? 

Mrs. C. Oh, that's Dora Bell. A niece of Canon 
Slade-Smith. Of course the Canon is a celibate. Still 
he's good-natured, and allows himself the liberty of 
being an uncle now and then. 

4 23 



Lady A. Let me see, didn't Dora Bell have a call to 
nursing some two years or so ago ? 

Mrs. C. She did indeed. A call that took her all the 
way to South Africa. 

Lady A. Curious, how many girls seem to be drawn 
towards that vocation nowadays after two or three 
London seasons ! I suppose they find out the hoUowness 
of the world. 

Mrs. C. Yes, dear, and the backwardness of men. 
I have known several nurses make highly successful 
marriages. Kitty Vereker, who was quite on the shelf, 
got off most successfully when she took to looking 
after dipsomaniacs. And Lady Hinchcliffe's daugh- 
ter — the one with the glass eye, who was a confirmed 
spinster — went into a small-pox hospital ; and is now a 
happy widow. 

Lady A. And has Miss Bell 

Mrs. C. Oh, Dora seems to have heard an inward 
voice summoning her to Johannesburg to cool the 
fevered brow of a South African millionaire. 

Lady A. And did she cool it ? 

Mrs. C. No. I understand that she found so many 
other young women out there, vowed to the same holy 
mission, that she came home again by the next mail. 

[Colonel Anson and Partner waltz round the 
cohimn. 

Mrs. C. Ah, here he is ! [Lady Agatha looks in- 
quiringly at /ier.'\ Don't you know him ? It's our 
Indian hero, Sylvia's fiance. Colonel Anson, V. C. and 
all the rest of it — just returned red-handed from the 
slaughter of Afridis. It is, my dear ! Don't be deceived 
by his white kid gloves. 

Lady A. Indeed ! I should never have thought it. 

24 



Mrs. C. Why not ? Did you expect him to come in 
waving a sword ? 

Enter Sir CLEMENT HoPE and DORA Bell promenad- 
ing. She has taken his arm in the usual way, but 
she has a protecting air which would almost suggest 
that he had taken hers. 

Dora. I do think this is such a charming waltz. It 
tempts me to go on longer than is prudent. I hope 
[anxiously'] you have not over-exerted yourself? 

Sir C. [Feebly.'] I shall be a wreck to-morrow, Miss 
Bell, simply an absolute wreck. 

Dora. Dear ! dear ! how sad ! I know you are such a 
sufferer. [They seat themselves on settee to left of stage ^ 
I am afraid I was inconsiderate in consenting to that 
last turn. One moment ! [Soothingly^ There ! 

[Applies vinaigrette of lavender salts to Sir 
Clement's nostril. 

Sir C. [Slightly recovering^ The last turn ? Oh, 
pray don't reproach yourself. Merely coming to this 
dance will prostrate me for a week. 

Dora. It is really most distressing ! What a dreadful 
thing this hyperassthesia of the nerves seems to be. 

Sir C. [Despondingly.] Good gracious me. Miss Bell, 
how learned you are ! 

Dora. [Shaking her head.] Ah, no, Sir Clement ; we 
poor nurses have to pick up medical knowledge how we 
can. One would despair indeed if it were not for one 
support which can never fail us — the interest in one's 
patients. 

Sir C. [Slightly alarmed.] Shall we have another 
turn ? 

Dora. Another turn ? Not for worlds ! How could 
you think of such a thing in your condition ? No, no, 

25 



Sir Clement. \Holding up her fingers archly^ Remem- 
ber, I am your doctor for the present, and you must let 
me prescribe for you : I am going to take you to the 
supper-room and give you just half-a-glass of champagne 
and a spoonful or two of chicken jelly. 

Lady A. Doctor Rainham's looking wonderfully well. 

Mrs. C. Doctors never doctor themselves. But it's a 
shame to joke about him. He's worth a hundred of the 
man who has put his nose out of joint. 

Lady A. You are no believer in the great Tregenna ? 

Mrs. C. Not I, though I am quite out of the fashion, 
I know. I like the old style of doctor, who felt your 
pulse, looked at your tongue, told you all the current 
gossip, which you believed or not as you liked, and 
wrote you a prescription, which you took or not as 
you chose. 

Lady A. Exactly. But suppose you did take it ? 

Mrs. C. Well, then it was your own fault if you 
recovered and got behindhand with the latest scandal. 

Lady A. Then you really think there's nothing in 
Dr. Tregenna's system in the modern mental treatment 
of disease ? 

Mrs. C. On the contrary, my dear Agatha, I think 
there's a great deal in it. There's superstition in it, 
there's hysteria in it, and I am inclined to think there's 
a good deal of flirtation in it, too. 

Lady A. But you can't deny that he has made some 
wonderful cures. Don't you remember poor young 
Lawrence Vyner, who showed such distinct signs of 
derangement a year or two ago ? He went for three 
months to the Doctor's Hampstead Retreat; and within 
a month after leaving it he got married. 

Mrs. C. Indeed ! Convalescence or relapse ? 

Lady A. Well, dear, at any rate he has shown no 
other signs of mental weakness. 

26 



Enter Canon Slade- SMITH and Doctor Rainham. 

Ah, here's the dear Canon. I am glad. Now I shall 
have one supporter at any rate. 

Mrs. C. We were just talking of the curious — can I 
call them medical ? — methods of Dr. Tregenna. Do you 
believe in them, Dr. Rainham ? 

[Colonel Anson and Mr. WARRINGTON come 
up at this point and join the group. 

Dr. R. To Tregenna's methods I am too old, or per- 
haps too prejudiced, to become a convert ; but on his 
own belief in them I would stake my life. 

Mrs. C. [To Lady Agatha Warrington.] And 
this of the man who has quite cut him out as a doctor ! 
Isn't he a dear fellow ? 

Canon. Well, Tregenna has made one very influential 
convert, and that quite recently. 

Col. A. [^Interested.'] Indeed ! Who is that ? 

Canon. Lord Belhurst. He expressed to me a strong 
desire to make the Doctor's acquaintance, and Tregenna 
is to be here to-night. 

Dr. R. Tregenna ! At a ball ? 

Mr. IV. By Jove ! Canon, you surprise me. I thought 
he was a chap who shut himself up in his cell like one of 
those — one of those early Christian Johnnies, don't you 
know. St. Anthony, eh ? 

Dr. R. Yes, Tregenna hates Society. 

Canon. All the time he can spare from his profession 
he devotes to good works at the East End. 

Mrs. C. Is it possible that he can have some good 
work in view at the West End ? Or are we beyond the 
reach of help — the submerged upper crust ? But unless 

it is that, I really can't imagine 

[Lord Belhurst has approached during '^r%. 
Culling's utterance of her last sentence, and 

27 



addressed her with a certain grim politeness, 
but with a visibly anxious and pre-occupied 
manner. 
Lord B. Not even you, Mrs. Culling ? Then why tax 
that brilliant imagination further? Surely the busiest 
and most devoted of physicians may occasionally feel 
the need of amusement, and if I have chanced to find 
Dr. Tregenna in that mood, it may be a stroke of good 
luck, but hardly a miracle. But perhaps he has already 
arrived. I am at this moment on the way to inquire. 
Lady A. Oh, let me go with you. Lord Belhurst. 
Lord B. I feel almost sure that Tregenna must have 
arrived by now. 

Canofi. He is the most punctual of men. {^Exeunt. 

[Dr. Rainham and Mrs. Culling retire to 
side of scene, and seat themselves on sofa in 
earnest conversation. 

Enter Hon. Miss Drake and Mr. Braybrook. 

Miss D. \_Petulantly.'] You aren't agile, Mr. Vining ; 
an agile man would have got me in to supper. 

Mr. B. I am most concerned — by — really — the crowd, 
Miss Drake 

Miss D. Go to Sandow's School. 

Mr. B. Does he teach you to find two places when 
there isn't one ? 

Miss D. He'll teach you how to develop your muscles, 
and muscular development is vitally necessary for those 
who have to make their way in London Society. 

Enter Lady MARY Mayne and Captain Stopton. 

Lady M. I like serious people ; as a background at a 
ball they give such an effect of contrast ! 

Capt. S. A row of chaperons at two o'clock in the 
morning, for instance ! 

28 



Lady M. Yes, indeed. Most artistic in their double- 
chinned despair ! 

\Exeunt. Doctor Rainham and Partner waltz 
round column. 

Enter DoRA Bell, with Sir Clement Hope. 

Dora. [ Tenderly 7\ You feel better ? 

Sir Clement. I think if you had allowed me to venture 

on a morsel of something solid, I 

Dora. But jelly is so bracing. 

\Exeunt DORA and Sir CLEMENT. 
\As they go off, Lord Belhurst appears at 
back as if looking for some one. He comes a 
short way down stage aftxiously, hesitates, 
then turns towards ball-room and exit. 
Mrs. Culling watching him. 
Mrs. C. Dr. Rainham ! 
Dr. R. Mrs. CuUing ! 

Mrs. C. As a doctor it's your business to know what's 
the matter with everybody ? 

Dr. R. Pardon me, it's my business to say what's the 
matter with everybody — for a consideration. 

Mrs. C. Then say what's the matter with Lord Bel- 
hurst, and I'll owe you a guinea. 
Dr. R. Lord Belhurst ? 

Mrs. C. Yes, Lord Belhurst ; because I, giving advice 
gratis, as becomes an unqualified practitioner, feel 
perfectly sure that if ever there was a case for calling 

in 

Enter Dr. Tregenna. 

Oh, talk of the devil, and — so glad to see you, Dr. 
Tregenna. This is indeed an unexpected pleasure — 

\_They shake hands. 
Tregenna. \Turning with genuine cordiality to her 

29 



compactions How are you, my dear Rainham ? It 
seems an age since we met. 

Mrs. C. How can you wonder at it, when you never 
condescend, as Dr. Rainham does, to mix with us weak- 
minded triflers ? But perhaps you think we shall all 
have to come to see you ourselves in course of time. 

Tregenna. \SniilingS Not quite all, Mrs. Culling, some 
of you are safe enough. 

Mrs. C. Including me by chance. 

Tregenna. \_Still smiling^ I didn't say so. 

Mrs. C. Oh, but I do hope you will. Am I really 
quite safe ? 

Tregenna. I can't say that exactly, with the words of 
a famous poet in my mind. 

Mrs. C. Which are ? 

Tregenna. \Bowing in a courtly fashion^ 

" Great wits to madness, sure, are near allied, 
And thin partitions do their bounds divide." 

Mrs. C. \With a mock curtsey. '\ Thank you. Dr. 
Tregenna. What a very pretty speech. I'm sure you 
must be dying for a talk with your old friend here ; so 
I'll run away before you have time to reconsider my case. 

Tregenna. \Stoppitig her with a gesture.'^ Shall I 
give you a prescription before you go ? 

Afrs. C. Something mental? I think I'd rather not. 
I'm old-fashioned, Dr. Tregenna, and would rather trust 
my fate to a pill, or place my hopes of happiness on a 
mixture, than give my mind to anybody's keeping — even 
yours ! \^Exit. 

Tregenna. A very sensible woman. 

Dr. R. [With a smile.'] So at last the hermit has 
come out of his cell. 

Tregenna. [^Coldly.] A doctor must go where he is 
called. 

30 



Dr. R. Come, Tregenna, who is the Helen of this fair 
company that 

Tregemia. [ With a slight start, then grimly^ Helen ! 
You are unlucky in your names, Rainham. I was fool 
enough once to give my heart into the keeping of a 
woman who bore that name. 

Dr. R. [Moved, and laying hand on Dr. Tregenna's 
shoulder^ I know. But after all, the sad story has a 
less melancholy sequel. The misfortune, or the wrong, 
that shattered your happiness laid the foundation of 
your fame. \Sits. 

Tregenna. [ With renewed bitterness. ] Yes, if you mean 
that it drove me to work which, in making me forget 
that I was miserable, has made me — \in a lower tone'\ — 
forget also that I am a man. Yes, if you mean that 
I am prosperous, successful. But what of that ? 

Dr. R. \In a kindly, cheering voice."] Surely it is 
something to be thankful for that this trouble has 
increased your power of benefiting mankind. 

Tregenna. [ With intense scorn.] Mankind ! Mankind ! 
Why, the word has no meaning for me ; has not had 
for five-and-twenty years. 

Dr. R. But surely you have found happiness in your 
labours — in your successes ? 

Tregenna. Happiness ! No, unless stupefaction is 
happiness. What have my labours, what have my 
successes been but the narcotic drugs that have won for 
me forgetfulness ! Forgetfulness ? [Rises.] Why, even 
now there are moments when I feel that I could 
fling power and fame and triumph to the winds for 
one dagger-thrust at the heart of the man who 
robbed me. 

Dr. R. [Horrified^ Tregenna ! 

Tregenna. [Bursting into a sardonic laugh. ] His heart 
did I say ? What an old-fashioned organ to attack. It 

5 31 



is not the body I should strike if I sought revenge for 
an injury, but the mind. 

Dr. R. Revenge ? 

Tregenna. {^Changing to a careless tone.'] Ay, if I 
sought revenge. He who can cure disease for a good 
purpose could cause it for an evil one. 

Dr. R. [^Eyeing him curiously.'] What, you really 
believe that your methods are as potent as that ? You 
fancy that by force of your will-power, as you call it, 
you can 

Tregenna. Fancy it ? I know it ! I have proved it. 

Dr. R. [Startled.] Proved it ? 

Tregenna. I mean I could prove it in that way were I 
allowed to do so. What, shocked ? I tell you. Rain- 
ham, \with growing excitement] that if we treated 
criminals in this country as we do not scruple to treat 
rabbits, I would rid the world, before I die, of the 
deadliest and most terrible scourge of man. 

Dr. R. That is if criminals fared no better with us 
than rabbits. But your East End patients supply you 
with a sufficient variety of cases. 

Tregenna. [Contemptuously.] Oh, my East End, pa- 
tients ! Yes, for the simpler, cruder forms of insanity 
— for the brain trouble that is born of violence and bru- 
tality. But the descent of madness from the delirium 
of the drunkard, from the bestial fury of the wife-beater, 
from savagery and ruffianism in every form, is plain 
enough without the help of their examples. [Pacing the 
stage as though unconscious of Dr. KAITSiH AM' S presence.] 
Oh, for a patient that I could follow step by step along 
that gloomy path till we reached the actual border line, 
the dim, yet still visible frontier beyond which insanity 
lies. All — all would be clear to me then ! But that is 
the one case that I have never met with, which, perhaps, 
I never shall meet with — unless — [apart and speaking to 

32 



himself] — unless [Sylvia passes at back from the 

ball-room to the conservatory , leaning on Colonel Anson's 
arm.] Great God! It is Helen herself — my Helen — 
come back from the grave ! 

Dr. R. [^Astonished.] Helen ! your Helen ! Tregenna, 
what do you mean ? 

Tregenna. \_Grasping Dr. Rainham's arm and point- 
ing after Sylvia.] Who is she? Who is she ? 

Dr. R. Lord Belhurst's daughter. 

Tregenna. Good God ! Whose house am I in ? Her 
name, Rainham ? Quick ! Her name ? 

Dr. R. Sylvia — Sylvia Wynford, 

Tregenna. Wynford, did you say ? Wynford ! Ah, 
then, that explains the likeness. That living image of 
Helen is Helen's daughter — [after a moment's pause] — 
and his. 

Dr. R., Then the man who five years ago became 
Lord Belhurst, is the man who 

Tregenna. The man who robbed me — the man who 
wrecked my life. 

Enter Lord Belhurst. 

Lord B. Dr. Tregenna, I believe? 

[Tregenna turns, his face resuming its habit- 
ual severity of expression. He eyes Lord BEL- 
HURST with a certain stern curiosity, and 
shakes hands in a formal manner. 
Dr. R. Well, Lord Belhurst, I know you have serious 
business together ; so I will leave you. [Exit. 

Lord B. I sincerely thank you. Dr. Tregenna, for having 
broken your rule of seclusion in my favour. [Tregenna 
bows coldly.] This is a somewhat strange scene for a 
consultation, but [indicating seat. They sit] my excuse 
for choosing it can be explained in a moment, 

33 



Tregenna. Yes ? 

Lord B. I want you to see a — a possible future 
patient under these circumstances — in an hour of gaiety, 
brightness 

Tregenna. A patient ? 

Lord B. My daughter. [J/(?z/^;«^«/ ^/TREGENNA.] I 
have some fears, possibly groundless, for her health. 
[Tregenna listening in silence^ I may be fanciful — you 
will say. 

Tregenna. I cannot tell. 

Lord B. No, no, of course you have not seen her. 
^Y\jsi\\.passes attack with partner. Lord Belhurst/^j/j- 
his hand hastily on Tregenna's arm^ Ah, there she is! 
Look — look at her! [Tregenna -^wrwi- coldly to look after 
Sylvia, who passes on and exits. LORD Belhurst 
watching him anxiously. '\ What should you say to that? 
The picture of happiness, eh ? 

Tregenna. She looks happy ! 

Lord B. So did her mother. \Hesitating. 

Tregenna. Her mother ? 

Lord B. Yes, and who fell a victim to some mysterious 
mental malady a few months before Sylvia — my daughter 
— was born, and my constant fear is that my daughter 
may have inherited her fatal tendency. 

Tregenna. [SYLVIA seen at dack.'] Your daughter is 
coming this way. 

Lord B. Yes, yes ; my fears may be mere fancies — 
judge for yourself. I had perhaps better not let her see 
me talking with you. She might suspect. 

[Exit Lord Belhurst. 

Tregenna. If she should be that patient for whom I 
have waited so long ! Helen's daughter, Helen's echo 
in face, in bearing. At least the mask and domino are 
beautiful — beautiful as were her mother's. 

34 



[Dr. Tregenna withdraws to back of scene and 
takes a seat among the palms, from which, con- 
cealed himself, he can watch the couple. 

Enter Sylvia and Colonel Anson ; he leads her to a seat 
and sits down beside her. 

Col. A. \Anxiously^ Why, what's the matter, 
Sylvia ? You are tired — you are ill. 

Sylvia. \Faintly^ No, no, Maurice, it is nothing. 
My head swims a little, that's all. Everything seems 
dreamlike. I can hardly believe that you are back 
again — by my side once more. Oh, Maurice, that awful 
time of waiting; they haunted me, those dreadful, 
dreadful telegrams. 

\Shiiddering and covering her eyes with her hands. 

Col. A. \_Soothingly.~\ Oh, come, come, Sylvia, it 
wasn't as bad as all that, you know. Those newspaper 
chaps are bound to paint things up a bit. 

Sylvia. How can you talk so lightly of it ? " News- 
paper chaps " don't get soldiers the Victoria Cross. 

Col. A. \_Smili7ig.'] I'm not so sure of that. 

Sylvia. \Looking proudly at him^ I am, Maurice. 
Valour alone can win that cross inscribed with those 
words that lie in my heart — "For Valour." When I saw 
your name in the Gazette, I forgot everything: all my 
sleepless nights — everything, in my joy and pride in my 
hero. [Colonel Anson takes her hands in his.'] And when 
you put that little cross into my hand it burned me like 
the flame of your courage. As I touched it, I saw the 
deed that won it ; I heard the bullets hiss round you. 

\_Breaking off. 

Col. A. {Drawing her towards him.] Dearest Sylvia ! 
[Tregenna coughs slightly, and advances. They 
start and release each other. 

35 



Tregenna. [ Coming forward and addressing Sylvia.] 
May I introduce myself? Dr. Tregenna. 

Sylvia. \_Surprised^ Dr. Tregenna ! Oh, where is my 
father ? He is so anxious to see you. 

Tregenna. I have already seen him, Miss Wynford. 

Sylvia. Then I hope his mind is at rest. His 
impatience for your coming was quite — quite — 

Tregenna. Absurd, you were going to say ? 

Sylvia. Absurd — no, pathetic ! But when everybody 
is impatient to see what so few people have ever had the 
chance of seeing — Dr. Tregenna in a ball-room — 

Tregenna. An odd spectacle, you think — like a fly in 
amber. 

Sylvia. Perhaps; for you know, Dr. Tregenna, men 
must live up to their reputation. 

Tregeiina. And what about women ? 

Sylvia. Oh ! we only have to live up to our dress- 
makers ; that takes us all our time. 

Col. A. Not you, Sylvia. 

Sylvia. Oh, Maurice, let me introduce you — Colonel 
Anson — Dr. Tregenna. 

[Col. Anson and Dr. Tregenna bow coldly. 
\To Dr. Tregenna.] But do tell me — why have you 
condescended to come ? To dance the Cotillon with me ? 
Do you wish to be wiped out of my mirror ? 

\Holding up a little silver mirror that hangs at 
her side. 

Tregenna. \More seriously^ Your father had a special 
reason for desiring my presence here to-night. 

Sylvia. \More serious^ Yes ? 

Tregenna. He was anxious that I should make your 
acquaintance. \^Fixes his eyes intently on her. 

Sylvia. \In a slightly abstracted voice^ Was he? lam 
so glad, 

Tregenna. \_Quietly, but in a slow, measured tone, and 

36 



with marked emphasis.'] And I believe he thought — 
forgive my boldness, at my age one may say what 
would be an impertinence in a younger man — I believe 
he thought that we should have a mutual attraction for 
each other. 

Col. A. '[Who has watched the interview thus far 
with an air of uneasy distrust, aside.] Oh, confound the 
fellow ! This is too much. [Aloud.] Did Lord Belhurst 
authorise you to say that, Dr. Tregenna ? 

Tregenna. [Sternly, removing his eyes for a moment 
from Sylvia.] No, sir; but neither did he instruct me 
to request your permission. 

Col. A. [Hotly.] Because it strikes me that on so 
short an acquaintance 

Sylvia. Maurice dear, we are not on the battle-field. 
Dr. Tregenna is quite right. We are beginning to 
understand one another already. Besides [^misic] this 
is your dance with Miss Bell. There's the music 
beginning. 

Col. A. [Drawifig her a little aside from Dr. TRE- 
GENNA and speaking in low, earnest tones.] Beware of 
that man, Sylvia. 

Sylvia. Miss Bell's dance ! 

Col. A. Beware of him, I entreat you ! 

Sylvia. Miss Bell's dance ! Don't you understand, 
dear ? [Colonel Anson catches her hand, kisses it, and 
exit. Sylvia looking after him.] What ridiculous crea- 
tures men are ! 

Tregenna. All men ? 

Sylvia. [Turning and meeting his eyes.] All, when 
you know their weak point. [Sitting^ What is yours, 
Dr. Tregenna ? 

Tregenna. [Sitting.] My foolish good nature. 

Sylvia. I should scarcely have thought so, you have 
not the face of what I call the tea-party man. 

37 



Tregenna. The tea-party man ? 

Sylvia. Yes. The sort of nice, indefinite, cotton-wool 
man, who smirks at you over a muffin and waves his 
handkerchief \biisiness\ at life, and thinks that art can 
only live in Paris and that women can only live in 
London. [^Laughing. 

Tregenna. I haven't got his face, eh ? 

Sylvia. No, you're not half so pretty-pretty ! 

Tregenjia. Perhaps I wear a mask — as you do. 

Sylvia. I wear a mask ! My dear Doctor, we're not 
at Covent Garden ! You're forgetting 

Tregenna. Nothing ! Your mask is painted with a smile. 

Sylvia. \_Smili7ig.'\ It is indeed — my best ball-room 
smile. 

Tregenna. Mine — look into your little mirror — [SYLVIA 
holds it up before her. Dr. Tregenna rises and stands 
behijid her, bending slightly towards the mirror, into which 
Sylvia gazes'] — mine is painted with a frown. 

[Facial business. 

Sylvia. [Starting^ Ah! [Recovering.] You change 
your mask at will, it seems. 

Tregefina. And can even wear a gay one when I please, 
like the tea-party man. [Facial business. 

Sylvia [Still looking into mirror, half amused, half 
frightened?^ What ? You vary your colour like the 
chameleon ! 

Tregenna. At will I can wear the mask [facial busi- 
ness]. Of hate [facial business] when it sees its enemy ! 
Of love [facial business] when it sees 

Sylvia. [Dropping the mirror and turning to him.] 
Yes, when love sees ? 

Tregenna. A lovely woman. 

Sylvia. Ah ! Take care of the tea-party man. You 
nearly said [inifnicry] Dear Lady ! 

Tregenna. No, no. 

38 



Sylvia. You trembled on the verge ! But your own 
face, Dr. Tregenna, what is that Hke ? Should I be able 
to recognize you if I surprised you without your mask ? 

Tregenna. [ Very serious tone7\ I will ask you a question, 
Miss Wynford. Should I be able to recognise you ? 

Sylvia. \Catching his gravity^ Yes, at any time, for 
I am always myself. 

Tregenna. But are there not many women in one 
woman ? 

Sylvia. \Gro'wing gravity^ Would you say so ? Are 
we like the conjurer's boxes — a hundred in one ? 

Tregenna. Are you not ? Why you — you are the 
laughing woman you were, the serious woman you are, 
the sad, the shadowed woman you can be. 

Sylvia. \Falteringly^ You — do you know that — that 
sometimes I seem to be walking with shadows ? 

Tregenna. With shadows — yes ! 

Sylvia. They come to me when I am alone, and make 
me sad. They whisper to me of sorrows, until I feel as 
if the sorrows were in my own heart. 

Tregenna. Do they come at night ? 

Sylvia. Sometimes. \Trying to throw ojf her gloom of 
spirit ineffectually^ In summer time I often think that 
they come trooping down to me from the moon. As I 
look out of my window over our dark, murmuring woods 
at Belhurst. I listen — listen till I can almost hear their 
soft footsteps. 

Tregenna. [ Voice to induce sleepy And then, as the 
night grows old, you hear the shadows singing — singing 
their drowsy melodies. 

Sylvia. \With drawn voice.'\ Yes, their drowsy 
melodies. 

Tregenna. To lull you and your sorrowful heart to 
sleep — to sleep ? 

Sylvia. To sleep. Yes ! 

6 39 



Tregenna. \Sharp change^ Till the sun comes out of 
the east, and it's — morning. 

Sylvia. \Starting up, bewildered expression^ Why, 
why. Dr. Tregenna, the shadows are gone ! But it's 
you — you who have driven them away. 

Tregenna. \_Rising abruptly^ Enough for the present, 
Miss Wynford. We will talk again together some other 
time. See, here is your father and your excited lover 
come to claim you. 

Enter Lord Belhurst and Colonel Anson. 

Col. A. Sylvia, come with me. \_Indicating ball-room.'] 

Sylvia. \Still as if beivildered.] But, Maurice, I 

{Looking towards Dr. TREGENNA. 

Tregemia. The Cotillon, Miss Wynford, the Cotillon ! 
Life has its flowers and favours as well as its shadows. 

Sylvia. \_Regaining her gaiety.] And its mirrors. If 
you approach me in the mirror figure, doctor, I shall 
take my handkerchief and wipe out all your masks : I 
won't have even one. 

Tregetina. Not the last ? 

Sylvia. Not even that. 

Col. A. Masks ! What do you mean ? 

Sylvia. Never mind, Maurice. You don't know any- 
thing about masks. 

Col. A. No, thank God, I don't. 

\_Exeunt Colonel Anson and SYLVIA. 

Lord B. [Anxiously.] Well, Dr. Tregenna, you have 
seen my daughter — you have talked with her ! 

Tregenna. [Gravely^ Yes, I have. 

Lord B. And my fears for her health of mind, they 
are without foundation ? Can you tell me that ? 

Tregenna. Unfortunately there is some ground for 
alarm. Miss Wynford is exceptionally, even morbidly 

40 



impressionable, highly strung beyond the average 
woman. 

Lord B. I feared so. 

Tregenna. \_Always watching him.~\ She needs the 
greatest care. 

Lord B. You mean medical care ? 

Tregenna. I do. I should advise you to remove Miss 
Wynford for a time from all excitement, and give her 
perfect rest and quiet. 

Lord B. I will take her down to Belhurst. 

Tregenna. I would not do that, the woods, the 
memories of the place might foster her habits of 
melancholy. 

Lord B. Would it be possible for you to undertake 
her case yourself? 

Tregenna. No, quite impossible. 

Lord B. Impossible for you to give up your time ? 

Tregenna. I have undertaken responsibilities with 
regard to others that I may not neglect. 

Lord B. Unfortunate, most unfortunate. To whom 
then can I trust her ? 

Tregenna. That's for you to consider. 

\_Pause, looking at each other. 

Lord B. Could we arrange in no way that you should 
fulfil your other duties and at the same time give my 
daughter your earnest care ? 

Tregenna. Well, there might be one way — yes — I 
might accomplish that — at Hampstead, perhaps I might 
be able to secure the perfect quiet and constant watching 
which her health would require. 

Lord B. At Hampstead ? The Retreat ? Is it not 
called so ? You think that course would be best ? 

Tregenna. I think that there Miss Wynford might be 
removed from all existing conditions. 

Lord B. I am greatly indebted to you. Dr. Tregenna. 

41 



It is of course a — a — difficult step for me to take. Still 
her restoration 

Tregenna. Might probably be accomplished under tAose 
circumstances. 

Lord B. Then I ought not — I will not hesitate. 

Tregenna. [^Smiles quietly.'] 

Lord B. I depend then on your skill for my poor child. 

Tregenna. I will devote my whole power to her case, 
Lord Belhurst. You may rely on that. 

Lord B. I do thank you, Dr. Tregenna, with all my 
heart I thank you, and place my daughter in your 
hands. There's the Canon. \Exit. 

Tregenna. \_Courteous deprecation^ 



Enter Canon Slade-Smith. 



Cajion. Has Lord Belhurst taken my advice ? 

Tregenna. What advice ? 

Canon. Why, I strongly urged him to consult you as to 
the possibility of Miss Wynford staying at Hampstead 
for a little. I am sure that after the London season it 
would be of the greatest benefit to her. It would be 
better than going abroad, wouldn't it ? I knew her poor 
mother, you know. 

Tregenna. \_Eyeing him with a curious expression.] You 
urged that. Canon ? 

Canon. [Pluming himself.] Surely, surely. 

Tregenna. Ah, always untiring in efforts for the welfare 
of others. Yes, your advice has been taken. Miss 
Wynford will soon become a fellow patient with Bill 
Burge. 

Canon. She is ill then ? 

Tregenna. She may become so. 

42 



Canon. You will prevent it ? You are the very man 
to save her. 

Tregenna. \Sardonically7\ I ! You think that, Canon ? 
Ah ! You always have so much penetration. 

Canon, Oh, nothing out of the way, Tregenna. 
Besides, everything is possible to a will like yours. 

Tregenna. \Half to himself. ~\ Yes, everything. Even 
such things as you, Canon, would little dream of. 

Enter Mrs. CULLING, Lady Agatha WARRINGTON, 
Dora Bell and Lady Mary Mayne and Captain 
Stopton. 

Canon. Ah ! here comes our dear Dora ! Allow me 
to make known to you, my niece, Miss Bell — Miss Dora 
Bell, a young woman, I am glad to say, with a serious 
purpose. [Tregenna bows with cold politeness. 

Mrs. C. [To Lady Agatha Warrington.] It's 
getting more than serious — it's becoming desperate. 

Canon. Dora is a fully qualified nurse, and is eagerly 
desirous of obtaining employment in that capacity. Is 
it not so, dear Lady Agatha ? 

Lady A. It is indeed, dear Canon Slade-Smith. I 
think it is so sweet of them, don't you, dear Mrs. Culling ? 

Canon. [Unctuously.'] And surely it should be full of 
encouragement to us all, that so many young women 
born to luxury and ease should be willing to put away 
the rich apparel of their class to don the simple garb of 
charity. 

Mrs. C. [To Lady Agatha Warrington.] White 
cap, white bibbed apron, collar and cuffs to match, all of 
the finest lawn. It suits some girls remarkably well. 

Tregemia. [Who has been closely scrutinizing DORA 
Bell during the preceding conversation^ Does Miss Bell 
propose to enter a hospital or to take up private nursing ? 

Dora. Oh, not a hospital, Dr. Tregenna. I would much 

43 



rather attach myself to one particular patient. It 
seems to offer so many more opportunities for — for 

Mrs. C. For personal self-devotion. 

Canon. And it has therefore occurred to Dora, my dear 
Tregenna, that if, through my good offices, she could 
obtain a post as nurse in your Hampstead Retreat. 

Tj-egenna. A post as nurse in my retreat ? Is Miss 
Bell aware of the painful nature of the maladies 
from which my patients suffer ? 

Mrs. C. Oh ! yes ; from what I know of Dora, I feel 
sure she would have no objection to nursing a weak- 
minded young man 

Dora. \Ignoring the remark^ Ah, no, Dr. Tregenna, I 
have seen so much of brain trouble in my own class of life. 

Tregenna. In your own class of life, eh ? \Then,aftera 
moment's reflection and with a sardonic smile.'] Ah, I think 
I can provide you with a patient, if you are ready to 
commence your duties at once — say to-morrow or the 
next day. 

Dora. [£agerlf.'\ I am, I am ! A thousand thanks, 
Dr. Tregenna, I must think of my preparations. 
Dancing seems so frivolous when there is suffering all 
around us. Oh ! \_Rapturously^ I wonder what he 
is like ! Mr. Warrington, will you come with me till 
I get my cloak ? [^Exeunt. 

Canon. Dora's zeal is most creditable to her. But, 
thank heaven, it is only one of many signs of awakening 
among the members of what was once I fear a selfish 
class. 

Mrs. C. But come now. Dr. Tregenna, tell us, have 
you really secured a duke for Dora ? 

Tregenna. Well, no, Mrs. Culling, not exactly a duke ; 
but there's no deceiving you, Mrs. Culling, so I may as 
well reveal my little plot at once. Miss Bell is to take 
charge of a very powerful and very violent dock labourer 

44 



who is already displaying marked symptoms of homicidal 
mania. 

Mrs. C. Oh, Dr Tregenna! How can you? Poor dear 
Miss Bell ! But is it safe ? Dock labourers are so very 
— unconventional — even when they are sane. 

Tregenna. In my house, perfectly so. I will explain 
to you. [ They go off, talking confidentially . 

Canon. Tregenna! Tregenna! You mustn't run away. 
I am not going to let you go until you and my very dear 
friend the Archdeacon of Poplar have made each other's 
acquaintance. Come along, you are my captive for the 
present. 

Tregenna. Pardon me ; for the present I am Mrs. 
CulHng's captive. I will see your friend in a moment. 

\_Exit with Mrs. CuLLlNG. 

Canon. \Trotting after him. '\ What an extraordinary 
man it is. 

Enter LORD Belhurst and Sylvia. 

Sylvia. At last I have found you. I am so glad ; I 
have something — \zuith assumed dignity"] — very, veiy 
important to tell you. Now, guess what it is ? I give 
it you in three ? 

Lord B. [Anxious.] No, no, Sylvia, I cannot guess. 
Tell me. [In a graver tone] It may be even more im- 
portant than you think it. 

Sylvia. [Laughing.] Oh, that's impossible. It's the 
most important of all the important things that can 
happen to a woman. Now can't you guess ? [Lord 
Belhurst shakes his head with the same anxious look.] 
Poor dear ! I won't tease you any longer. Maurice is 
asking when we are to be married. 

Lord B. [Hastily:] Married ! It can't be ! 

Sylvia. Father ! 

Lord B. Not yet — your nerves are overstrained. I 
have suspected it a long time. Now I know it. You 

45 



must have complete rest — special care for a time. It is 
imperative ! 

Sylvia. [Alarmed.'] Special care ? I am not ill — I 
don't understand. 

[Enter Colonel Anson. Cheerfully. 

Col. A. Lord Belhurst, Sylvia has told you. When is 
it to be ? 

Lord B. Not yet, Anson. It cannot be yet. 

Col. A. [Looking towards Sylvia, who has sunk down 
on a sofa.'] Not yet ! Sylvia ! How pale she looks. 
Oh, she is not ill ? 

[Movement towards her. Lord BELHURST de- 
taijiing him. 

Lord B. Hush ! That is it. She is seriously over- 
wrought. Dr. Tregenna says 

Col. A. Tregenna ? That man ! 

Lord B. Dr. Tregenna advises complete rest for a 
time. She must go 

Col. A. Go where ? 

Lord B. Into his care — only for a time. 

Col. A. [Aghast.] His — Tregenna's care! You are 
going to commit Sylvia to him ? 

Lord B. As a patient, now 

Col. A. But what do you know of him ? 

Lord B. That he is a great doctor. 

Col. A. Doctor ! I distrust him as a man. 

Lord B. Nonsense, nonsense, Anson. Don't be so 
prejudiced. You've dropped behind the time here whilst 
you have been winning your way abroad. Dr. Tregenna 
is achieving — has achieved an extraordinary position in 
dealing with just such cases. Go — go, my dear fellow. 
Don't let Sylvia be unduly alarmed. Take her to the 
ball-room. They are beginning the cotillon ; it may 
help to cheer her. You and I will speak of this alone, 
later. 

46 



Col. A. But 

Lord B. He is coming. 

[Colonel Anson goes to Sylvia, she takes his arm. 

\Exeu7it. 

Enter Dr. Tregenna. Sylvia stands bewildered, look- 
ing from her father to him. 

Sylvia. Oh, what does it mean ? Dr. Tregenna 



\She approaches him pleadingly, and as though 
seeking his protection. Colonel Anson 
interposes himself between them. 
Tregenna. [^Raising her hand with a soothing gesture. 
Not now, Miss Wynford, not now. 

[Colonel Anson leads her away. Dr. TRE- 
GENNA watches them, disappear among the 
dancers. Lord Belhurst sinks into a chair 
and covers his face with his hands. Dance 
music for a few seconds. 
I lost the mother, and now the daughter is given to 
me. — To save for the man who ruined my life the only 
being who makes his worth living. — And yet men say 
I am a cynic ! 

Curtain. 



47 



ACT III. 
A Week Later. 

Scene. — Dr. Tregenna's consulting room at'' The Re- 
treat" Hampstead. A large and brightly furnished 
apartment. Pictures on the walls, a big writing-table, 
on which statids in a prominent position a vase con- 
taining two fine roses. A pianoforte, chairs, sofas, etc. 
A t back of stage, French windows opening on a garden. 
Near windows an aviary, full of birds, on a stand. 

[Dr. Tregenna discovered sitting at writing- 
table, with pen in his hand. He finishes his 
writing, then takes out his watch and looks 
at it. 

Tregenna. Twelve o'clock. They will soon be here. 

\A knock is heard at door. 
\^Turftijig.'\ Come in ! 

Enter Dora Bell and Bill Burge. 

Nurse Bell and her docile charge ! And how is Nurse 
Bell on this beautiful morning ? 

Dora. \^Excited.'\ I am not made of cast iron, doctor; 
really I can't, and I won't bear any more from this — 
this — person ! 

Tregenna. This gentleman has been afflicting ? It seems 
— \looking Bill Burge over\ — almost incredible. 

Burge. {Sullenly^ I cawn't 'elp it ! She goes on at 

48 



me — [shoots a murderous glance at DoRA Bell] — as if 
she 'spected to find a bloomin' toff. And I ain't ! 

Tregenna. What do you say ? 

Burge. I says I ain't a bloomin' toff. 

Tregenna. Your statement carries conviction. [Turn- 
ing to Dora Bell.] Mr. Burge remarks that he is, 
unluckily, not a blooming toff. 

Dora, When I came here as nurse, I did not expect 
to have to attend upon — upon this sort of thing. 

Tregenna. I can assure you this gentleman possesses 
a nervous system just like the average peer's, and should, 
therefore, appeal as poignantly to your charitable in- 
stincts. [Turning sharply on Bill Burge.] Why don't 
you appeal to this lady's charitable instincts, sir ? 

Burge. [Backing from Dr. Tregenna.] I dunno ! 

Dora. I can do nothing with him. He gets worse 
every day. 

Tregenna. [Smiling^ Gets worse every day, does 
he ? How strange ! 

Dora. His manners are odious. 

Tregenna. A nurse should overlook little trifles of de- 
portment, and remember that all suffering humanity alike 
claims our pity. 

Dora. [As if struck by his tone."] Do you pity your 
patients, Doctor? 

Tregenna. So much that I sometimes cure them. 

Dora. [Pointing to BURGE.] Is he being cured ? 

[Burge watching and listening sullenly. 

Tregenna. Why not? Come here, Mr. Burge. [BuRGE 
approaches^ Within this shell, this husk, that afflicts 
you so much, Nurse Bell, a wonderful development is 
taking place. [^URGY. gives an inarticulate growl.'] You 
hear — the soul speaks out of its prison ! 

Dora. [Half frightened, half fascinated^ What de- 

49 



velopment? I think he gets more difficult to manage 
every day. 

Tregenna. Because he is gradually waking to a know- 
ledge of his possibilities. [Sharply to BURGE.] Aren't 
you, Burge ? 

Btirge. Gam ! [ With sinister glance at Doctor, which 
gradually changes to an expression of fear. ^ Don't keep 
all on lookin' at me like that ! It gives me the blooming 
creeps ! Don't, I tell yer ! 

\Clenching his fists in nervous excitement. 

Tregenna. You see each day. Nurse, I take him one 
step further along the road. 

Dora. To health ? 

Tregenna. Of course, of course. 

Dora. All the same — I did not come here to — 

Tregenna. To do your duty as a nurse, eh ? 

Dora. [^Frightened. ~\ I didn't mean that, 

Tregenna. What did you mean then, girl ? What did 
you mean ? 

Dora. [Meekly.] Only that I'd — I'd rather have 
another patient — more — more in sympathy with me, 
Doctor. 

Tregenna. You are craving for sympathy ? 

Dora. Yes, indeed — indeed I am ! 

Tregenna. That's a great waste of time ! And so this 
gentleman's [indicating Burge] not sympathetic ? I'm 
sorry I can't interrupt the progress of Mr. Burge's mind 
in order to facilitate the journey of your — h'm — heart. 

Dora. [In despair.] Oh ! 

Tregenna. So for the present you must fancy he is 
a duke, 

Dora. [Near door ^ A duke, indeed ! This — ^a duke. 

Burge. Garn ! Blimy ! I'm as good as a bloomin' 
nuss. 

Dora. How dare — 

50 



Tregenna. Hush ! This gentleman is a Socialist ; we 
must respect his convictions. By-the-bye \siirveying 
BURGE critically] it shouldn't be difficult to fancy that 
he is a duke. His untidiness is quite aristocratic! 
Take him away, nurse, and smarten him up a bit. His 
wife's coming to-day. 

Dora. His wife ! Has the creature a wife ? 

Tregenna. Oh, yes ! but you need not be alarmed at 
that. She won't be jealous. I'll tell her she can rely 
on your discretion. And so I am sure will the Canon, 
who's coming with her. 

Dora. Uncle Augustin ? 

Tregenna. Yes. You don't seem pleased ! Shan't 
you be glad to see him ? 

Dora. \_Snappishly.'\ Oh ! I don't know, I am sure. 
If it hadn't been for his advice I should never have gone 
in — for — for — [ with a vicious pluck (2/BurGE's arm'] — 
for good works. [^Exeunt DoRA and BURGE. 

Tregenna. \Looking after her, and with his dry cackling 
laugh.'] No, I suppose not. But she's a little hard on 
her uncle. I suppose it's his doing, perhaps, that she 
devoted herself to the science of man. But I'm re- 
sponsible for giving her the wrong man. 

Enter Servant. 

Servant. Canon Slade- Smith, sir, to see you ; and 
Mrs. Burge, sir — and — and — \with slight hesitation'] — 
and other visitors. 

Tregenna. Show them in. 

[Servant shows in Canon Slade- Smith and 

Mrs. BuRGE, followed by Sam Cheeseman 

and Joe Green. 

Canoji. [^Fussily.] Here we are, my dear Tregenna. 

Here is Mrs. Burge — overflowing with gratitude to you. 

SI 



Tregenna. I am delighted to welcome Mrs. Burge. 

[Mrs. BuRGE bobs a curtsey. 

Canon. And I have taken the liberty of bringing two 
of our suspicious friends from the East End, that they 
may see Burge for themselves. 

Tregenna. \_Eyeing Sam intently through his glasses.'] 
Oh ! to be sure. I remember Mr. — Mr. Cheeseman. 

Sam. [With uneasy defiance^ That's right, guv'nor. 

Tregenna. Mr. Cheeseman is in trade, I think, a 

Sam. Call it coster, guv'nor, and you won't be far aht. 

Tregenna. Exactly — though I was going to say 
" travelHng greengrocer." And your friend here ? 

Joe Green. Green, sir; Joe Green, in the fried fish 
business. 

Tregenna. Green ; in the fried fish business. A 
most savoury calling. And you, Mr. Cheeseman ; have 
you come to consult me again ? Sit down there ! 

[Moving to large invalid easy chair. 

Sam. [Backing cautiously away from it ^ Wot? Set in 
that there machine ? Not me ! 

Joe Green. What are yer 'fraid of, stoopid ? 

Satn. [Angrily^ Stoopid yerself ! Think I ain't fly to 
them doctors' dodges ? Never get up again, like as not ! 

Tregenna. [Producing stethoscope^ Come now, let me 
complete my interrupted examination. 

Sa7n. [Starting violently^ Garn ! Stow that bloomin' 
telescope, or I takes my 'ook. 

Tregenna. [Pocketing instrument with a grim smile.] 
Oh, well. It's not needed, I think I diagnosed your case 
the other day. 

Joe Green. 'Ear that, Sammy? The doctor dog-nosed 
somethin' when he sniffed round you the other day. 

Sam. [Disturbed, but with affected contempt. ] Rats ! 

Tregenna. No, that's Mr. Burge's complaint Yours 
is something quite different. 

52 



Canon. [Interested.'] Did you really, Tregenna, dis- 
cover 

Tregenna. Certainly. Distinct symptoms of fatty 
degeneration. 

Canon. [Concerned.] Dear me! Dear me ! Of the 
heart ? 

Tregenna. The heart ? Oh, dear no ; the head. 

Enter DORA and BURGE. 

Canon. Ah, Dora ! Glad to see you. My good Burge, 
it rejoices me to meet you in this peaceful sanctuary. 

Sam. Wot ch'er, Bill ? 

Joe Green. 'Ow d'yer feel about the chump now, old 
sonny ? 

Mrs. B. [To BuRGE.] 'Ow's yerself, Bill ? 

Burge. [Zd7^y^z«^^^Dr. Tregenna.] Oh, I'm nicely, Liz. 

Mrs. B. [Astonished^ Lawks ! 

[Staring from BuRGE to Dr. Tregenna. 

Sam. [ Who has been closely inspecting BuRGE, to JOE 
Green.] My wig ! ain't his 'air smooth, Joey ? 

Joe Green. Ar ! and ain't he been clean shived ? That 
ain't no penny scripe, I'll be bahnd ! 

Canon. He does seem nicely, indeed. A wonderful 
transformation. Doctor ! 

Tregenna. Mr. Burge is making rapid progress. 

Mrs. B. [To BuRGE, anxiously^ Ain't you yerself 
this mornin', Bill ? 

Burge. Stow it ! What are you a-gettin' at, old 
woman ? 

Canon. [Tritimphantly.] There, Mrs. Burge ! what did 
I tell you ? Your husband is doing splendidly under 
the doctor's fostering care. This admirable behaviour is 
very dififerent from what you have been accustomed to 
from your good man. 

53 



Mrs. B. That it is. [Z^^y&m^<3:/ Dr. Tregenna.] I 
don't know as I 'olds with it. 

Canon. Holds with it, my good woman ! Why, 
surely 

Mrs. B. [To BURGE.] Are you feelin' queer, Bill? 

Burge. \Jn a surly voice ^ Oh ! there ain't nothin' 
wrong with me. 

Mrs. B. \Eyeing him with a dissatisfied look^ Sure 
o' that, Bill ? 

Bicrge. [Zc»^/^/«_^(a;/Dr. Tregenna. Then impatiently^ 
Yuss, I tell yer ! Shut yer silly 'ed, carn't yer ? 

Mrs. B. [Turning towards Dr. Tregenna.] He ain't 
'isself, he ain't ! 

Tregenna. You think not, Mrs. Burge ? 

Mrs. B. [ To Dr. TREGENNA.] What are you a-doin' 
to him ? What ? 

Tregenna. Turning him into that beautiful ideal of 
woman — a model husband. 

Mrs. B. [Great excitement.'] And 'oo wants a moding 
'usband — 'oo? 'Oo wants a chap as cawn't speak hup 
for 'isself, and show 'is sperrit, I say ? 

Burge. Stow it ! 

Canon. [Shocked.] My dear Mrs. Burge, what black 

ingratitude, when 

Mrs. B. [Interrupting.] Not me ! I don't want no 
'usband as cawn't speak hup for 'isself, lip or fist. 

Canon. Oh ! this is shocking ! 

Mrs. B. [Breathing hard.] Is it then, is it, I say? 
I'd rather 'ave a hoath what I'm accustimed to, or a 
boot 'eel what I know, than a palaverin', sneakin' young 

lydy of a 'usband, what Oh! Bill ain't 'isself; Bill 

ain't 'isself [Begins to cry. 

Canon. [ To Dr. TREGENNA.] Really, Doctor, I am 
quite ashamed of this unseemly exhibition! 
Tregenna. Let her cry ! It won't hurt her. 

54 



Canon. But you ! after all your kindness ! 

Tregen7ta. I ask no return. [Tl* Dora.] You can take 
Burge away, Nurse Bell. [DoRA and BURGE go towards 
the door, Mrs. BURGE follows them, but stops half way, 
still whimpering?^ And now if these two " Visiting 
Justices," Mr. Cheeseman and his friend in the fried fish 
business, are satisfied with their inspection of my patient, 
perhaps I might say good-bye to them at the same time. 

Sam. [ Who has been gazing in wonderment at BuRGE.] 
All right, guv'nor, we're satisfied, ain't we, Joey ? 

\^Niidgi7ig ]0Y, Green with a grin and pointing 
over his shoulder at BuRGE. 

Joe Green. Rather, Sammy ! It's a merrickle, this 
'ere, blest if it ain't. \They go to door^ Bill's quite a 
reformed carrickter, ain't yer. Bill ? 

Sam. [Banteringly to BuRGE.] We shall 'ave you 
a-teaching Sunday-school soon. 

Joe Green. Yuss, or giving it aht on temperance down 
at the University 'Ouse ; shan't we. Bill ? 

Sam. " Bill," says you. 'Oo are you familiorizin' 
like that ? It's Mister William now, I tell yer — Mr. 

William Bur Oh, Lord ! 

[BuRGE suddenly turns on him with a fierce 
growl. Exeunt Sam Cheeseman and JOE 
Green precipitately through door, followed 
by BURGE and DoRA. 

Tregenna. [^Impatiently.'] Now, Mrs. Burge, come ! 

Mrs. B. [Still sobbing.] I won't — no, I won't until 
you tell me what you're doing to him. 

Tregenna. [Sudden change to sharpness^ Go into the 
hall, woman, and cry there to the footman ! [Exit Mrs. 
BURGE, as if alarmed.] Some women will never accept 
kindly the gentle offices of medicine. 

Canon. [In a flutter.] The gentle offices ! I should 
say — surely, surely ! 

8 55 



Tregenna. If I were to cure the ruffian, I believe that 
silly creature would try to get him bound over to break 
the peace. 

Canon. But you are curing him, my dear Tregenna. 
When does Sylvia, the poor lamb, come under your 
care ? 

Tregenna . To - d ay . 

Canon. Bless me ! So soon ? 

Tregenna. \_G lancing at his zvatch.'\ Within an hour. 

Canon. Poor child ! Poor child ! Her good father is 
very disturbed, very anxious. 

Tregenna. So anxious that he troubles her peace. 

Canon. Her dead mother troubled his. 

Tregenna. \Shading his eyes with his hand, as if from 
the sun.'\ Aye ! How was that ? 

Canon. By her indifiference, poor soul — by her melan- 
choly. 

Tregenna. And by her madness, eh ? 

Canon. Ah, of course, you know ! Dear, dear! It 
was really most heart-rending to see the poor lady 
in her last few months of life — she used to sit — \shakes 
his head mournfully\ — as if in a dream, looking straight 
before her for hours, and pulling flowers to pieces. 

Tregenna. \Taki71g the two roses from vase slowly.] 
How ? Show me ! 

[^Giving one rose to Canon Slade- SMITH. 

Canon. \_Surprised, and strewing rose-petals to the 
ground^ 

Tregenna. \Watching intently l\ Like that? Ah! 
\Moodily imitating bus. of Canon Slade-Smith with 
rose.'\ I can see her! [^Sudden change of manner. \ I 
must watch for that in the daughter. 

Canon. Oh, I understand ! You are interested as a 
physician ! 

Tregenna. [Suddenly starti^ig up, and throwing the re- 

56 



maining fragment of his rose to the floor with a gesture 
almost of violence^ Of course — as a physician ! 

Enter hastily, Colonel Anson. 

Col. A. Dr. Tregenna, I wish to speak to you for a 
moment. [Colonel Anson hows to Canon Slade-Smith. 

Tregenna. \Jcily7\ I am not accustomed to see people 
in this chamber unannounced. 

Col. A. I'm sorry, but my business is urgent. 

\Stops abruptly and looks towards Canon Slade- 
Smith. 

Canon. [To Dr. TREGENNA.] Shall I depart? 

[Motion towards door. 

Tregenna. Stay, Canon, if you please. I invited you 
to come here. As to Colonel — er 

Col. A. Anson. I come uninvited. 

Tregenna. [Bows sarcastically^ 

Col. A. [Abruptly. '\ Miss Wynford is to be brought 
here to-day, I understand ? 
' Tregenna. By her father — yes. 

Col. A. As her future husband, I consider that I have 
a right to watch over Miss Wynford's welfare. 

Tregenna. Future husbands are as full of rights as 
voters at an election ! 

Col. A. And I may tell you plainly, Dr. Tregenna, 
that I have protested to Lord Belhurst against this 
strange, this horrible project. 

Canon. Do you venture to 

Tregenna. [Gesture stopping him.'] The horrible 
project of placing Miss Wynford under my medical 
supervision ? 

Col. A. Why should it be ? Sylvia is not ill ? 

Tregenfta. Your statement carries weight, sir. 

57 



Col. A. If she were ill, I should know it in a moment. 

Tregenna. You should become a physician — you'd 
make money. 

Col. A. I distrust you, Dr. Tregenna; I distrust your 
treatment 

Canon. Really, I must solemnly protest 



Col. A. {Still to Dr. Tregenna.] I tell you so, 
plainly. 

Tregenna. I notice that you do. \Aside to Canon 
Slade-Smith.] I had better be alone with this lively 
soldier for a moment. 

Canon. Lively soldier ! Yours is in very truth a 
Christian spirit. \Opening door. 

Tregenna. {Gliding him out.'] A Christian spirit ! I hope 
so. {Exit Canon Slade-Smith. To Colonel Anson.] 
You distrust me ? 

Col. A. I do. 

Tregenna. You think I am a charlatan, deluding Lord 
Belhurst and luring his daughter here for some sinister 
purpose ? 

Col. A. {Movement of assent^ 

Tregenna. My time is fully occupied. Let Miss 
Wynford decide the matter for herself 

Col. A. You say that ? 

Tregenna. Quite indifferently. She will be here in a 
moment. Her father will leave her here. 

Col. A. Ah ! 

Tregenna. Go away now. 

Col. A. {Obstinately^ Go ! 

Tregenna. {Taking out his watch.] Come back within 
half-an-hour. {Movement of Colonel A'NSOl>S.'] You shall 
see Miss Wynford. 

Col. A. I hold you to that ! 

Tregenna. If — in half-an-hour — she desires to leave 
this house with you, she shall leave it. Even with her 

58 



father's consent, I won't keep her against her will. And 
now 

Enter Servant. 

[Dr. liKE.GEi^'iiA.turns hastily, and with a gesture stops him 
front speaking. [7<? Colonel Anson.] Aurevoir! [Opens 
an opposite door.'\ By this door if you please ! [^;rzV Colonel 
Anson, hesitatingly^ To Servant.] Lord Belhurst ? 
Serv. Yes, sir. 
Tregenna. I will see him ! 

[Exit Servant. Dr. Tregenna stands near aviary 
making gestures to the birds. As Servant re- 
enters he ceases quickly and turns. 

Enter Lord Belhurst and Sylvia. Exit Servant. Dr. 

Tregenna greets Lord Belhurst; then advances 

to Sylvia. 

Sylvia. [Agitated^ It is you then — oh, Dr. Tregenna,! 

Tregenna. Yes. \To Sylvia.] Miss Wynford, you and I 

are going to be not simply doctor and patient, but friend 

and friend. 

Lord B. Yes, yes. [To Sylvia.] My child. Dr. Tre- 
genna is indeed going to be your friend — and mine. 

Sylvia. Oh, father, I know — but 

[Sinks down and covers her face with her hands. 
Lord Belhurst makes a movement towards 
her, but is arrested by Dr. Tregenna. 
Tregenna. [Aside, to Lord BELHURST.] Better not, 
better not ! 

LordB. [Overcome^ You think so? [Movement of assent 
by Dr. Tregenna.] I should leave her now — at once ? 
Tregenna. Yes. 

Lord B. So be it. [ Turns as if to go, then stops, and 
turns impressively towardsDr. Tregenna.] Dr. Tregenna, 
save her, care for her. I give her life, her more than life — 

59 



her soul, her reason — into your hands. It is hard to do ! 
I do it for her sake — remembering — [_falters^ — her 
mother ! 

Tregenna. Remembering her mother — yes. 

[Lord Belhurst makes a movement as if bless- 
ing Sylvia, and exit slowly. After Lord 
Belhurst exit. Dr. Tregenna shuts the 
door sharply. 

Sylvia. \^Suddenly starting up, and wildly^ My 
father ! Oh, where is he ? 

Tregenna. \_Coming slowly towards her.~\ He has gone! 
Sylvia. Gone ! 

\_Impulsive movement towards door, which 
brings her close to Dr. TREGENNA. 

Tregenna. [ Taking her hands, and very calmly !\ Gone 
— leaving you with me, that I may heal you. 

Sylvia. [More quietly.^ Ah ! It is that I can't under- 
stand ! [As if confiding in Dr. TREGENNA.] You can tell 
me ! — you must tell me ! What is the matter with me ? 
[Dr. Tregenna puts her into a chair and stands bending 
slightly over heri\ My father wouldn't ! — Am I ill ? — 
How can it be ? I feel well. 

Tregenna. At present. 

Sylvia. Can I be ill without feeling it, without knowing it ? 

Tregenna. Yes. 

Sylvia. Oh, Dr. Tregenna — no, it is not possible. 

Tregenna. Half the world is ill without being aware of it. 

Sylvia. Ill — ill in body ? 

Tregenna. Or in mind. 

Sylvia. [Fearfully^ My mind ! Oh, surely not, that 
would be too horrible ! 

Tregenna. Your mind is sick. Here you are in safety. 
Out there, in the world that you love and that loves you 
too well, you are in danger. 

60 



Sylvia. In danger of what ? 

Tregenna. Of many strange and hidden accidents. 

Sylvia. [Yielding to his influence, and more quietly^ 
So my father told me. I could not understand. 

Tregenna. Few can understand the hidden dangers of 
life ! The dangers to the soul ! [Sitting^ It is quiet here. 

Sylvia. Yes. How quiet! 

Tregenna. London is close by — yet invisible, unheard. 
Its harsh voices are stilled. You and I hear only my 
birds singing gaily. [Points to aviary. 

Sylvia. They are always happy— the birds. Though 
few are always happy. It is not intended that we 
should be, they say. 

Tregenna. Yes. So say the fools, prating idiocy and 
naming it philosophy. Men, women, could be happy 
if 

Sylvia. If what? Oh, tell me ! 

Tregenna. They took care of their minds even as 
much as they take care of their dogs and their horses. 
Would you feed your dog on poisoned meat ? 

Sylvia. No. 

Tregenna. Yet you feed your mind on a poisoned world. 

Sylvia. But — is it poisoned ? 

Tregenna. Rankly ! rankly ! You are better out of it 
for a while. 

[Sylvia. It may be so. You almost make me feel that 
it is so. 

Tregenna. Stay with me awhile, and I will heal your 
mind, and I will give you some of my power which you 
are feeling — even now. 

Sylvia. [Gazing at him. "^ Yes — even now. 

Tregenna. Do you wish to stay ? 

Sylvia. [Murmuring.'] Yes, yes ! I wish it! I wish it! 
[After a pause, in a dreamy voice ^ It is strange to feel 
one's will, one's soul, one's very self so wholly in the 

6i 



power of another. Strange and almost terrible. Yet I 
am not afraid. 

Tregenna. No ? 

Sylvia. [ With simplicity .'\ No, why should I be ? My 
father trusts you — and I — I believe in your goodness, 
your gentleness, as deeply as I feel your power. I think 
doctors are the kindest people in the world. 

Tregenna. [ Who has withdrawn his gaze front Sylvia 
during this speech, and has sat with his eyes fixed on the 
ground, now looks tip at her agaifi, and speaking in a 
constrained voice^ But if there were some power stronger 
than my own which governed me, leading me in strange 
and perhaps terrible paths ! What then, Miss Wynford ? 

Sylvia. A power stronger than your own ! Oh, but is 
there anything on earth which can rule you ? 

Tregenna. How can I tell ? What is my will ? Per- 
haps there is another will more powerful than that which 
is now subduing you, some irresistible, overwhelming 
force that may sweep me before it, and you with me, 
like leaves on a mountain flood, the soul of the monster, 
science, desire of knowledge ! We are mysteries to 
ourselves. 

[Tregenna rises from his chair ajid walks apart. 

Enter suddenly BILL BURGE. 

[Confronting him."] What are you here for, Burge ? 

Enter hastily, DoRA Bell. 

\_To Dora.] What is the meaning of this ? 

Dora. I can't help it. I can manage one of my 
own class — a gentleman, but — [seeing Sylvia] — Miss 
Wynford ! 

[Sylvia bows indifferently, then fixes her eyes ofi 
Dr. Tregenna and Bill Burge. 

62 



Burge. [Jerking his head at DoRA Bell.] If she 
daun't git out, I'll do 'er a mischief. 

\Tur7is and stares at Sylvia. 

Dora. There, Dr. Tregenna, what did I say ? 

Tregenna. [ Who has been closely watching Sylvia and 
Bill Burge.] Nurse Bell, your soul and this gentle- 
man's are evidently not in close sympathy. I think I 
shall have to make some new arrangement. 

Dora. Oh, thank you, doctor, thank you ! If you will 
put me in charge of some pleasant, interesting 

Tregemia. [Curtljy.'] That will do, Nurse Bell, thank 
you. [Exit Dora Bell. Bill Burge is still watching 
Sylvia.] I'm going to make an alteration in your 
treatment, Burge. From to-day I shall keep you more 
continually under my own influence. D' you hear? 

Burge. \_Sullenly, with an evil look at T>r. Tregenna.] 
I 'ear. 

Tregenna. Now you can go ! \Sudden pause^ Go into 
the conservatory — pick me some roses — wait outside, and 
when I strike this bell, like this — \strikes bell'\ — bring 
them in to me here ! Go ? [Points to French window. 

Burge. [Going, stops by SYLVIA. To Dr. TREGENNA.] 
Is — is she a-stoppin' on — is she — a-stoppin' long a' you — 
like I am ? 

Tregenna. Go and pick the roses. 

[Exit Bill Burge, turning again at window to 
gaze at Sylvia, then from her to Dr. 
Tregenna. 

Sylvia. [Coming nearer to Dr. TREGENNA.] That poor 
man is like some wild beast. 

Tregenna. [Smiling^ He was a wild beast — the 
terror of his neighbourhood — a wife-beater, almost a 
murderer ! 

Sylvia. Ah ; no ! 

9 63 



Tregenna. But I shall make of him what I will, and 
you — you will stay and watch the process ? 

Enter Colonel Anson. 

Sylvia. [Astonished.'] Maurice ! 

Tregenna. Come, Colonel Anson, here is Miss Wyn- 
ford. Say whatever you wish to her. 

[Dr. Tregenna moves to writing-table, sits in 
chair, takes up pen and begins quietly to 
write. 

Col. A. {Approaching Sylvia.] Sylvia ! 

Sylvia. You here ! Why have you come ? 

Col. A. To take you away. 

Sylvia. Away ? [SYLVIA looks at Dr. TREGENNA. 

Col. A. Yes, to your home — to your father ! 

Sylvia. It was my father who brought me here. 

Col. A. Why ? You are not ill. 

Sylvia. Am I not ? I don't know. 

Col. A. \Asto7iishcd.'\ Sylvia! 

Sylvia. I must know that — and many things ! 

[Sylvia gazing at Dr. Tregenna, who con- 
tinues writing. 

Col. A. [More determined.'] Sylvia, you are not your- 
self to-day. Come home with me. You shall not stay 
here. Your father is hoodwinked — he is blind. He 
placed you here — I know that. But you must not obey 
him 

Sylvia. [Quietly.'] It is not only my father whom I 
obey. 

Col. A. Whom, then, is it ? 

Sylvia. It is he — Dr. Tregenna. 

Col. A. Dr. Tregenna ! 

Tregenna. [Looking up from his writing^ Did you 
speak. Colonel Anson ? 

64 



Col. A. \_Looking into his eyes.'\ I recognize your 
power now — fully. 

Trege7ina. Indeed — what then ? 

Col. A. \poggedly\ I say you shall use it for good 
— instead of for evil. 

Sylvia. [Interposijig.'] Dr. Tregenna is all goodness. 

Col. A. \_Engrossed with Dr. Tregenna, ignoring 
Sylvia.] You shall use it for good — you shall tell her 
to leave you ! 

Tregenna. [^Smiling.'] Tell a patient to go — uncured ? 
\_Shakes his head.'\ My medical pride forbids. 

Sylvia. \^To Dr. Tregenna.] And if you did tell me 
to go now — I 

Col. A. What then, Sylvia? 

Sylvia. I would not go. 

Col. A. [As if chilled to awe.'\ You would not — even 
then? 

Sylvia. Even then. 

[Dr. Tregenna — gesture of grave satisfaction. 
Colonel Anson stands for a moment looking 
from Sylvia to Dr. Tregenna with a des- 
pairing and puzzled expression, as if striving 
to comprehend an im.penetrable mystery. 

Col. A. \To Sylvia, in an almost faltering voice ^ 
You — you will ? 

Sylvia. [Firmly. "] I will stay here. 

[Colonel Anson turns from Sylvia and ap- 
proaches Dr. Tregenna. The two men stand 
for an instant looking into each other's eyes. 
Col. A. [To Dr. Tregenna.] You have won. [Dr. 
Tregenna bows.'] For the moment. [Dr. TREGENNA 
smiles. In low stern voice.] But though you may 
conquer the will of a woman, remember that in me you 
have a man to deal with. 

65 



Tregenna. [Sarcastically indicating Sylvia.] Whom a 
woman rules. 

Col. A. But who will never be ruled by a man. 
Tregenna. [Still sarcastically.'] Not even through a 
woman ? 

Col. A. Not even through a woman. 

[Exit Colonel Anson. 
Sylvia. [Approaches Dr. Tregenna's writing-table in 
silence and stands by it\ Dr. Tregenna! 
Tregenna. Miss Wynford ! 

Sylvia. Make me as you are ! If I am ill, cure me, 
save me, give me courage, give me life ! I will obey 
you in all things. Only tell me what to do. 

Tregenna. [Rising with a sudden smile ^ And you 
promise to obey in all things ? 
Sylvia. Yes. 

[Dr. Tkeg^^'NK strikes his hand on bell. Enter 

Bill Burge from the garden, carrying some 

roses. Dr. Tregenna takes the roses from 

him and gives them to Sylvia. Sylvia sits 

and begins to strew the rose-petals. BiLL 

Burge watching her intently. Dr.TREGENNA 

watching also in sile^ice for a moment. 

Tregenna. That is pretty work for women — pretty 

work — pretty work. [To Bill Burge.] Don't you think 

so, Burge ? You seem fascinated — eh ? 

[Dr. Tregenna stretches out his hand as if to 
lay it on Bill Burge's shoulder. Bill 
Burge cowers down as if in abject fear, like 
an animal beneath the whip. Dr. TREGENNA 
half withdraws his hand, glances from BiLL 
Burge to Sylvia and breaks into a slow 
laugh. 

Curtain. 

^6 



ACT IV. 

(Six weeks have elapsed since the events of the jrd Act.) 

Scene. — The garden of " The Retreat T Time, night. 
Trees, with tiny lights dotted about in their branches, 
An illuminated fountain playing ; beds of flowers 
outlined in light. 

\As the curtain rises, a hidden orchestra of gui- 
tars and mandolines plays an Italian melody 
and a hidden singer warbles a brief serenade. 
In front of the stage BILL BURGE crouches un- 
der a tree, listening to the serenade with a 
brutalized wonder. At back of stage, quite 
in distance, afewofT>v. Tregenna's guests 
appear ajid disappear slowly among the trees. 
As the serenade dies away, BILL BURGE slinks 
off to a bench near the fountain, but rather se- 
cluded, and sits down, remaining in an at- 
tetttive attitude, as if lookifig afid waiting for 
someone. 

Enter Mrs. CULLiNG and Canon Slade-Smith. 

Mrs. C. Your magician is determined to bring us all 
under his spell to-night, Canon. Really, the rumours 
that have been flying about London seem quite ridicu- 
lous in this enchanted garden. 

Canoti. Rumours, dear Mrs Culling ! I have heard 
no rumours. 

Mrs. C. And yet, since you are the Doctor's most firm 
adherent, they should have reached you first. 

67 



Canon. From your tone I sadly gather that they are 
slanders. 

Mrs. C. Possibly. 

Canon. \Severely^ I grieve to hear it. I had thought, 
I confess, that only the ignorance — the besotted ignor- 
ance — of the East End could mistake the beauty of my 
dear friend Tregenna's character. I thought that the 
civilization of the West End 

Mrs. C. \_Qtnckly.'] Oh, then the East Enders don't 
appreciate Dr. Tregenna's charitable ministrations ? 

Canon. \_Confoised.'] I did not say so. I certainly 
never 

Airs. C. You implied it, Canon. Then your poor don't 
worship the great man ? 

Canon. Their fatuous ignorance tends to make them 
suspicious of everybody. 

Mrs. C. I don't agree with you. I think what is 
called their ignorance often makes them remarkably 
sharp. Poor people always know who are their true 
friends. 

Canon. Indeed ! Yet I have seen them try to avoid me! 

Mrs. C. That certainly does show a certain mental 
confusion. 

Canon. I hope so, I am sure. But these rumours to 
which you allude ? 

Mrs. C Well, you know, people 

Canon. People ! 

Mrs. C. Mayfair folk, Piccadilly trottoir youths, even 
Berkeley Square fogies — and fogies are fogies in Berke- 
ley Square — are beginning to murmur, just to murmur, 
that your doctor is 

Canon. What, in gracious name ? 

Mrs. C Oh, Canon, what heterodox language ! Well, 
a little too purely scientific. You know. Dr. Tregenna 
is said to be very fond of making experiments. 



Canon. All great pioneers of medicine are, I conceive. 

Mrs. C. Yes ; but experiments made on other people's 
brains may be dangerous to the — er — other people ! 

Canon. The lack of common charity in London is 
simply scandalous. Why, they will be saying next that 
Dr. Tregenna has given this beautiful entertainment in 
order to 

Mrs. C. That's exactly what they are saying ! 

Enter Mr. WARRINGTON. 

Mrs. C. Ah, Mr. Warrington, you come in a good 
hour ! The dear Canon and I are quarrelling. 

Canon. Indeed — indeed ! 

Mrs. C. Or, rather, I am being properly rebuked for 
my gossiping propensities. 

Mr. W. Gossip is very pleasin' to me. I married 
Lady Agatha for her gossipin'. She's been gossipin' 
steadily to me for fifteen years, and is goin' strong at 
this moment. 

Mrs. C. And yet men call women weak ? 

Canon. Harmless and amusing gossip I should not 
condemn. 

Mrs. C. But unfortunately. Canon, harmless gossip 
never is amusing. 

Mr. W. \Emphatically ^ Nevah ! Nevah ! Lady 
Agatha knows that, thank heaven ! 

Mrs. C. And accordingly flavours her perennial sauce 
piquante with perpetual vinegar. Well, shall we go 
towards the house ? I haven't seen Sylvia Wynford 
yet. Is she better ? 

Canon. How can it be otherwise after six weeks of 
seclusion ? 

Mrs. C. With your marvellous doctor ? We shall 
see. 

69 



Canon. We shall indeed. And then I trust you will 

do my dear friend Tregenna the justice 

Mrs. C. Of considering him an angel of mercy ? I'll 
try, Canon, and you know a woman can do anything if 
she tries — she can even believe in a man. 

[Mrs. Culling, Canon Slade-Smith, and Mr. 
Warrington exeunt talking. The sound of 
hidden music is again heard softly. Enter 
Sylvia, zvalks very slowly down stage and 
pauses near foicntain. She seems to be listen- 
ing to the music. Presently she puts handker- 
chief to her eyes. Bill Burge, who has 
been intently watching her every movement, 
rises and softly draws near to her, pausing 
before he reaches her. 
Burge. 'St! 'st! \^X\.'^\K starts. Louder.'] H'st ! h'st! 
Sylvia. \_Seeing him.] Why, Burge ! What is it ? 
What do you want ? 

Burge. \_Approac hing furtively .~\ Where's 'im ? 
Sylvia. Him ! Whom do you mean ? 
Burge. Doctor ; 'e ain't along a yer ? 
Sylvia. No. \_Sinking down on bench.] Oh, how sad 
music sounds at night! How sad! [Bill Burge stand- 
ing by and watching her like a faithful dog.] Do you 
feel it too ? It is like a voice lamenting. All music is 

like lamentation to me now. And yet once 

Burge. What do yer s'y, miss ? 

Sylvia. \_As if following out her own thoughts^ Once 
I loved it for its gaiety. That was before I knew him — 
before I understood. 

Burge. [Almost with a snarl.] 'Im! Ah! 

Sylvia. Him who has opened my eyes; who has taught 

me the meaning of life ; who has shown me the depths 

that in my folly I never suspected — never dreamed of 

[Bill Burge touches Sylvia on shoulder. As if waking 

70 



from a melancholy reverie. ] You want to say something 
to me ? [Bill Burge nods?[ What is it ? Poor fellow, 
you too should know the terrors of life. \_Regarding him.'\ 
That pale and hunted look in your face ! 

Burge. 'Unted — that's me ! 'e's arter me — 'e's always 
arter me ! \_Miisic a little lojider, approaching climax. 

Sylvia. [Gently.'] What do you say, Burge? 

Burge. \_Gazing furtively on all sides.] 'E took me 
for the purpose, 'e did ! 'E took me for the purpose ! 

Sylvia. Took you ! Do you mean the Doctor ? He 
brought you here to make you different from what you 
once were. 

Burge. 'E did so. 

Sylvia. Yes, that some day you may thank him. 

Burge. \_Excited.'] Eh ? 

Sylvia. Thank him for all he has done for you. 

\_M?isic ceases. 

Burge. I'll thank 'im ! Yuss ! I'll thank 'im — 
one d'y. 

Sylvia. That's right. You and I both owe much to 
Dr. Tregenna. 

Burge. F(?z/!, miss ! 'E's arter _;/(?« .' 

Sylvia. I too. Before I met him I was so different, 
Bill, so different ! You in your home in the East End, 
I in mine in the West. We were not as we are now. 
Can you — can you understand what influence means ? 
[Burge shakes his head as if puzzled.] If I asked you 
to do anything for me would you not do it ? 

Burge. Yuss! {With sinister meaning^ I'll do it. 
I'll do it for you, miss, for you ! 

Sylvia. \_With exaltation.] As I would do anything 
for him, 

Burge. 'Im ! Anything wot 'e told yer ! 

Sylvia. Yes. Ah ! Influence — the spell of one soul 
upon another — that is the most wonderful thing in the 

lo 71 



world. We can't see it, we can't touch it. Yet we can 
feel it — you and I, in our different ways — coming upon 
us — his great will power, wrapping us round, stealing 
through all our natures. [ Touches BURGE on the shoulder^ 
Hark ? Do you not hear the soft wind in the trees ? 
[BuRGE looks upward^ How it stirs the leaves ! 

Burge. \_Nodding.'] 

Sylvia. So he stirs us. And listen — listen to the 
music of the fountain in the light. \_Silence.~\ Don't you 
feel it in your heart. [BuRGE makes awkward movement 
of ignorant response. SYLVIA, aloud, hysterically. ~\ So we 
feel his music [touches her heart"] here — here. 

Enter Dr. Tregenna. 

Tregenna. \_G lancing sharply from SYLVIA to Bill 
Burge, who has suddenly assumed an attitude almost 
threatening.'] Why are you out here, Burge ? Go in at 
once ! [BiLL BURGE hesitates. Pointing towards back of 
stage.] Do you hear what I say ? Go ! 

[Exit Bill Burge very slozvly and reluctantly 
with more than ojte pause, then moving away 
as if compelled. 

Sylvia. [Clinging to Dr. Tregenna's arm.] Poor, 
poor fellow ! He too feels — bows before your will. 

Tregenna. And he shall till I have finished with 
him. Leading SYLVIA to seat by fountain^ You are 
tired. Sit down here for a moment. My guests are all 
crowding to see a man who can imitate all our geniuses 
— a human monkey. They won't miss me — till he 
becomes a man again. Then he's dull — dull. [They sit. 
Dr. Tregenna narrowly observing SYLVIA.] What has 
Burge been saying to you ? 

Sylvia. I forget. I scarcely heard. These last days 
I seem to be living so intensely within myself that all 
outer things and people seem far away. 

72 



Tregenna. [ With a manner of professional interest. ] 
Hah ! Realities seem gradually fading away from you. 
You mean that ? 

Sylvia. Yes — yes — fading. 

Tregenna. And as they fade, are their places taken ? 

Sylvia. I don't understand. 

Tregenna. Do not the things of the brain — its 
phantoms as it were — become more real than the people 
about you, the people who pass — the trees, the waters, 
the dull truths of earth ? Is it not so ; tell me? 

Sylvia. No — not yet. I seem to see you — always and 
only you, 

Tregenna. [Movement as if of pleasure, bending 
over Sylvia.] All the others are nothing to you ! 

Sylvia. \Looking up at him.'] Nothing ? 

Tregenna. [Movement as if to take her hands, then 
checking himself^ But Lord Belhurst, your father ! He 
will be here to-night. He expects to see you for a 
moment. Do you wish to see him ? 

Sylvia. \Indijferently ^ As you will. 

Tregenna. [Always narrowly watching Syinia.'] You 
love him ? 

Sylvia. [Indifferently.] Oh, yes, 

Tregenna. [Suppressed excitement and tenderness^ And 
your mother. If she had lived — how you would have 
loved her ! 

Sylvia. [More interest^ My mother — he never speaks 
to me of her ! 

Tregenna. [Bitterness^ He doubts your understanding 
perhaps, the strength of your nature. He thinks you 
only care to be happy, 

Sylvia. It used to be so, 

Tregenna. It is not so now ? 

Sylvia. No, no. Now I care only to understand, to 
know the truth of things, 

73 



Tregenna. That is the only Hving life — to know the 
truth of all things. \_Half hesitating, yet as if driven on to 
the subject despite himself^ The truth of life — the truth 
of love. 

Sylvia. [^Looking up in his face. ~\ Of love? 

Tregenna. [ With suppressed emotion.'] Yes. Do you 
know it ? 

Sylvia. \_Bitterly.'\ I ? I forget. 

Tregemta. The truth of love is strange sometimes. 
Love may make a man cruel. 

Sylvia. How ? 

Tregenna. Cruel in keeping something that is not his 
— in caging a bird that he should allow to fly away. 

Sylvia. [^Dreamily. '\ Yes ? 

Tregenna. [Always watching."] He may see the bird 
pining in its cage — losing its power to sing, to fly. That 
may be terrible even to him. 

Sylvia. Then why does he not let it go ? 

Tregenna. Because he loves it. Because [almost 
fiercely] he cannot, will not, part from it, and be 
alone once more — all, all alone. Oh ! [Relaxing into 
moody reflection^ Your mother 

Sylvia. My mother — yes — yes ? 

Tregenfia. You know the truth of her life — and — and 
death ? 

Sylvia. [Growing eagerness.] No, no. Why do I not 
know ? 

Tregenna. Perhaps, after all, it's better not. 

Sylvia. Tell me of her — tell me. 

Tregenna. [Moved.] She was so like you. 

Sylvia. Like me ? Did you know her then ? 

Tregenna. They tell me she was strangely like you. 

Sylvia. Yes ? — Yes ? Tell me of her — tell me ! 

Trege7ina. [Reluctance^ And shall I tell you what 
your own father has hidden from you — truth which he 

74 



fears, fearing his daughter's courage, — fearing, perhaps, 
her love ? 

Sylvia. My father does not know me as you do. He 
does not know how you have changed me. But \with 
growing decision^ my mother, Dr.Tregenna, my mother ! 

Tregenna. He could not understand her, as he cannot 
understand you. 

Sylvia. Oh why, why is that ? 

Tregejtna. Men think that women must never know 
what life really is, because women are cowards. 

Sylvia. That isn't true. We are not cowards. 

Tregenna. No, but what man understands it? And 
some women fall ill, some women even die because no 
one is near them who understands them. 

Sylvia. [As if in korror.~\ Do you mean that — my 
mother 

Tregenna. Yes. 

Sylvia. She died — how ? 

Tregenna. Her mind faded — her nature withered — her 
very soul shrivelled, from want of the right sympathy, 
the right love, the right soul near her. 

Sylvia. Ah ! How horrible ! 

Tregenna. The flame of her mind went out long before 
the flame of her life died down. 

Sylvia. \Shudder.'\ Ah — no ! And my father ! He 

Tregenna. Could only watch her die. She starved — 
he starved her soul to death. 

Sylvia. \_Bnr sting into tears.'\ My mother ! my poor 
mother ! 

Tregenna. You'll welcome your father to-night ? 

Sylvia. [Starting up as if in horror^ No, no, never! 

Enter Dr. Rainham. He stands for a moment regard- 
ing Sylvia, then looks in stern inquiry towards 
Dr. Tregenna. 

75 



Tregenna. [To Sylvia.] You are tired. You had 
better go into the house — to your rooms. 

Sylvia. [Suddenly listless.'] Yes — I am tired ! — ah ! 
I am so tired ! Let me go — let me be alone — alone ! 

[Exit Sylvia. 
[Dr. Tregenna and Dr. Rainham stand for a 
moment looking at one another in silence. 

Tregenna. [Lightly^ One of my guests told me just 
now that my garden to-night is like a beautiful dream, 
Rainham. Don't you agree with her ? 

Rain. [Curtly^ No! [He watches the slowly retreat- 
ing figure of Sylvia.] A beautiful dream! — a night- 
mare ! Tregenna, is it true what people in London are 
saying of you ? My God, can it be true ? 

Tregenna. People in London ! Twaddlers ! Chatter- 
boxes ! Truth only frightens them. 

Rai?i. Truth is sometimes frightful. D' you know 
what they are saying of you ? 

Tregenna. That I am the Devil ! That's mere idle 
rumour. 

Rain. That you are pitiless. A man without human- 
ity, without bowels of mercy ; a man whose mind has 
strangled his soul ; a man whose head has killed his 
heart. Is that only rumour ? 

Tregenna. Rumour going naked. The police should 
run it in. 

Rain. They are saying in the West End what they 
have long been saying in the East End. 

Tregenna. The people always lead the aristocracy by 
the nose. The aristocracy are so addle-pated, and the 
people are so bumptious. 

Rain. Have you no faith in humanity ? 

Tregenna. None, none. 



1^ 



Enter Bill Burge at back. He moves slowly towards 
Dr. Tregenna, unnoticed by the latter. 

I play with men because I care nothing for any man. 

Rain. Some day you will find you've played with fire, 
and the fire will burn you to ashes. \Sees Bill Burge.] 
Hah! 

Tregenna. [yi/y<7jm«^BlLL Burge.] Burge, did I not 
tell you to go into the house ? 

Burge. Well, wot o' that ? 

Tregemta. \_To BILL BURGE.] Why are you here? 
You disobey my orders. 

Burge. \_Doggedly^ What are you a-doin' of to 'er ? 

Rain. \_Kee7i iftterest.'] Hah ! 

Tregenna. [^Coolly.'] I'm waiting to see you go — once 
for all. 

Burge. What are you a-doin' of I knows yer. 
[Threateningly ."^ I'll stop it — I'll tell 'em what you're 
up to with 'er. 

Tregenna. \_Laughing.'\ A pretty story, Burge ! 

Rain. [Apart to Dr. TREGENNA.] The man's dan- 
gerous ! 

Tregenna. [Contemptuously^ D' you think I don't 
know it ? 

Burge. [More threateningly^ You shan't do to 'er 
what you've been at with me ! I'll let 'em know ! 

[Guests seen approaching. 

Tregenna. [Gaily ^ Then here's your opportunity. 

Enter Mrs. Culling, Lady Agatha Warrington, Mr. 
Warrington, Dora Bell, Sir Clement Hope, 
Canon Slade-Smith, Lady Mary Mayne, etc. 

Mr. Warrington. Marvellous imitator — simply marvel- 
lous. 

77 



Lady Agatha. He's just like Napoleon. 

Dora Bell. And Little Tich 

Lady M. And Joan of Arc ! 

Sir C. And Dr. Jameson 

Mrs. C. And Dan Leno ; In fact everyone living and 
dead. But here's Dr. Tregenna. 

Tregenna. \Turning towards them^ Anxious to give 
you another little entertainment. Now, Burge, tell 
your story. \To Guests.] This patient of mine wants to 
relate a little anecdote. [Bill Burge begins to 
look abject^ Come, come, Burge ; don't be shy ! Let's 
have your story ! [BILL BURGE slinks slowly away.'\ 
Dear, dear, he's gone ! What a bar shyness must be to 
success in life. Eh, Rainham ? [Dr. Rainham turns 
away.'\ Don't you agree with me, Mrs. Culling ? 

Mrs. C. \Lookhig after Bill Burge.] If I were one 
of your — rabbits, Dr. Tregenna, I almost think I might 
be a little bit — I won't say exactly shy, but nervous. 

Tregenna. One of my rabbits ? 

Sir C. [Also looking after Bill Burge.] A remark- 
ably well-grown one ! 

Tregenna. \_Still to Mrs. CULLING.] Rabbits, Mrs. 
Culling ? 

Mrs. C. \Half gravely, half lightly^ You don't un- 
derstand me ? 

Tregenna. I am so stupid. 

Canon. My dear Tregenna, I have already explained 
to Mrs. Culling 

Mrs. C. The dear Canon has, indeed, as always, been 
persistently explanatory. Still — you know, Doctor, the 
vivisector has a pecuMdir penchant for rabbits. At least, 
so I understand. 

Tregenna. [ With real fee ling."] The vivisectors ! A 
cowardly crew ! I would sweep them from the earth ! 

Canon. There, Mrs. Culling ! Are you satisfied now ? 

78 



Mrs. C. Perfectly satisfied that Dr. Tregenna is always 
kind to animals, Canon. \_She turns away. 

Tregenna. \Genicine emotion^ It's a knife in my own 
heart to see a dumb creature suffer. 

Mrs. C. [^Turning suddenly. '\ And the talking crea- 
tures ? Men — women, — Doctor ? 

Tregenna. \Looking round on his guests, who are all 
grouped in attitudes of keen attention.'] The talking 
creatures ! 

Lady A. Yes, Dr. Tregenna. Don't you pity us — the 
poor little human beings who can't claim your compassion 
by barking and mewing. 

Dora. And twittering, like your birds, Doctor ? 

Tregenna. \_Change to complete hardness and irony. "] 
Pity you — yes, as I pity myself when I get the toothache 
after eating too much jam. 

Mrs. C. [^i'z^^^ Mr. Warrington.] Unkind gossip 
is not always merely amusing. Sometimes it is true as 
well. 

Mr. W. And that makes it so very pleasin' and 
invigoratin'. 

Sir C. [To Dr. Tregenna.] But, I say. Doctor, that 
patient of yours — he's a lively looking customer. 
Suppose one met him alone one dark night, eh ! 'Pon 
my word ! 

Canon. [ To Dr. TREGENNA.] Your control over him is 
a perpetual source of amazement to me, more especially 
as it is purely spiritual, I may say. 

Tregenna. \Impressively ^ Ah ! That's the secret ! 

Lady A. A secret! Oh, let me hear it, Doctor! 

Tregenna. Certainly. I'm no match for that wild man, 
physically ; he knows it ; I know it. The struggle 
between us is the great struggle between mind and body ; 
and so long as I keep to the weapon I have learned to 
use — perfectly — I'm safe. 

II 79 



Mrs. C. The weapon of mind ? 

Tregenna. Precisely. But if in a struggle with that 
man, a moment should ever come when I am tempted to 
drop the weapon of will, and to take down one \Jiolding 
up his clenched fist\ from the armoury of the body — 
well !— 

Canon. Yes, my dear Tregenna, yes ? 

Tregenna. That moment will be my last ! 

[Lady Agatha and guests saying good-bye. 
Dr. Tregenna moves up stage and eventually 
disappears with them, among the trees. 

Mrs. C. \To Dora Bell.] Well, Dora, your em- 
ployer 's a marvellous man — so kind to animals. 

Dora. [_Peevishly.'\ I wish he were more kind to me. 

Mrs. C. To you ? 

Dora. Yes. 

Mrs. C. Didn't you like nursing Burge ? 

Dora. No, because I'm not suited to that sort of per- 
son. The doctor should have seen that. 

Mrs. C. Perhaps he did. I sometimes see a twinkle 
in his eye. 

Dora. \Dolefully7\ But now it's worse still. 

Mrs. C. Worse than Burge ? 

Dora. Yes, indeed ! 

Mrs. C. Is that possible ? 

Dora. Quite possible ! He's put me in charge of 

\Almost weeping. 

Mrs. C. What ? — a monster ? 

Dora. A woman ! 

Mrs. C. Ah ! I always knew that whatever else he 
might possibly be. Dr. Tregenna was 

Dora. A brute ? 

Mrs. C. No, a humourist ! \Gazing quizzically at 
Dora Bell.] He seems to understand women as 

80 



thoroughly as — well, as thoroughly as we understand 
one another. Eh, Dora ? 

[ The two women look at one another in silence for 
a moment, and then both burst out laughing. 

Sir C. \Up stage. '\ I shall catch my death under 
these damp trees. 

Mrs. C. [7(7 Dora Bell.] Yourprofession claims you. 

Dora. {Hurrying to Sir CLEMENT HoPE.] Oh, poor 

Sir Clement ! Do let me recommend 

\_Exeunt Sir CLEMENT HOPE afid DoRA Bell. 

Mrs. C. It's a thankless world ! A nurse's devotion 
is seldom rewarded, Well, I must be going, too. Dr. 
Rainham ! {Calling to him. 

Rain. Yes, Mrs. Culling ! 

[Colonel Anson appears in distance. 

Mrs. C. Will you escort me to — [Breaking off sud- 
denly.'] Why, actually there's Colonel Anson ! I thought 
Lord Belhurst said he wasn't invited. Colonel Anson ! 
Colonel Anson ! 

Col. A. Do you want me, Mrs. Culling ? 

Mrs. C. My dear man, I thought you were among 
the millions of lost Londoners to-night ! 

Col. A . Lost Londoners ? 

Mrs. C. Excluded from Dr. Tregenna's magnificent 
hospitality ! 

Col. A. Indeed ! 

Mrs. C. So glad I was wrong ! 

[Colonel Anson bows in silence. 

Enter Mr. Warrington. 

Mr. W. [To Mrs. Culling.] Lady Agatha has sent 
me to ask if we may have the pleasure of drivin' you 
back to town. 

Mrs. C. Oh, how charming of her ? A brougham 



and two agreeable people instead of solitude and a 
" growler "! I come — I come ! Good-bye, Colonel 
Anson. [To Dr. Rainham.] Good-bye! Mr. War- 
rington, you are my good angel ! 

Mr. W. A most gratifyin' profession for any man to 
follow. 

Mrs. C. For the sake of any woman ? I wish all men 
thought so. 

Rain. But if all the men were good angels, what 
would be left for the women to be, Mrs. Culling. 

Mrs. C. They might be good women. Dr. Rainham, 
and perhaps not so much further from Heaven than 
you — even without the wings. 

[Exeunt Mrs. CULLING and Mr. WARRINGTON. 

Col. A. Rainham, you know that I'm here uninvited ! 

Rain. Yes. 

Col. A. I must see Sylvia. 

Rain. [ With sympathy.'] I understand. 

Col. A. [Grasping his hand.] Yes, you're a man, 
thank God, not a damned scientific machine — or worse. 
Where is she ? Have you seen her ? 

Rain. Yes. 

Col. A. Ah ! Then she is — well ? How was she 
looking, man — well, happy, herself? 

Rain. [Embarrassed.] Miss Wynford has gone into 
her rooms, acting under Dr. Tregenna's orders. 

Col. A. Tregenna, this friend of yours, and of every- 
body's, has cast some spell over the world — men, women 
bow down to him as if — why, as if he were some god — 
Lord Belhurst — Sylvia — and you ! [Dr. RAINHAM half 
turns away. Colonel Anson catching his arm.] You 
admire and beheve in him, too ? 

Rain. [Coldly.] I admire Tregenna's talents — yes. 

Col. A. And trust him — trust him ? Tell me, man ! 
[Dr. Rainham looks on the ground in silence^ You don't ! 

82 



[Dr. Rainham still looking on the ground^ Why don't 
you speak ? Ah ! you're another doctor ! Damn the 
etiquette of the profession ! 

Enter Lord Belhurst. 

Col. A. Lord Belhurst — at last! 

Lord B. [6^r^^//«^ Dr. Rainham.] Where's Dr. Tre- 
genna ? I was told he was down here by the fountain. 

Col. A. Do you intend to see Sylvia to-night, Lord 
Belhurst ? 

Lord B. I hope so. If Dr. Tregenna thinks it ad- 
visable. 

Col. A. [In despair^ If Dr. Tregenna ! — if Dr. Tre- 
genna ! Is the man a magician, casting dust in the 
eyes of the whole world ? See Sylvia to-night, Lord 
Belhurst. 

Lord B. [Impressed by his manner.'] I hope to do so. 

Col. A. See her to-night, for God's sake. 

Rain. \As if involuntarily^ Yes — see her ! 

Lord B. [Alarmed^ But is she ill ? Is she worse ? 
Dr. Tregenna would surely have let me know. He 
writes that she is nearly restored to perfect health and 
gaiety of spirit, although she still occasionally falls into 
a sadder mood. 

Rain. He writes that ? 

Lord B. Yes. Only yesterday I heard. 

Col. A. See her, Lord Belhurst ! Judge for yourself! 
\_At this moment Sylvia appears wandering through the 
garden dreamily, as if absorbed in sorrowful meditation. 
Seeing her.'\ Sylvia ! [Starting forward. 

Rain. [Forcibly restraining him.'] No ! 

Lord B. [To Dr. Rainham; hushed voice.] Quite 
right! [Holding out his hand to Colonel Anson.] 
Good-night, Anson. 

83 



Col. A. \_Obstinately.'] I shall not go till 

Lord B. [With quiet dignity^ Have you no faith in 
her father ? 

Col. A . Forgive me ? 

Lord B. Wait for me, Anson, wait — if you must. 
We'll go back to London together. 

Col. A. [Eagerly^ Thank you ! 

[Exit Colonel Anson. Dr. Rainham going. 

Lord B. \Who has observed Sylvia's demeanour with 
growing alarm.^ Dr. Rainham ! 

Rain. [Stopping.'] Yes. 

Lord B. You are going ? [Dr. RAINHAM, business^ 
May I ask you to — [Scrutinizing him.] You know — I 
may want to speak to you presently. Will you stay 
near, in case I ? 

Rain. Yes, Lord Belhurst, I will stay. 

Lord B. Thank you, Rainham ; thank you. [Exit 
Dr. Rainham. Sylvia has stopped beside the fountain, 
and is gazing mournfully at the falling water. Lord 
Belhurst quietly approaches her, stopping at a short 
distance from her.] Sylvia! My daughter ! [Sylvia 
continues absorbed. Moviftg to her.] Sylvia, my child ! 
[ Touches her. SYLVIA turns her head and gazes at him.] 
Ah! [movement of surprise] the change in her! [To 
Sylvia.] Sylvia ! [Holding out his arms.] 

Sylvia. [Coldly.] Father! 

Lord B. What ! You don't come to me ! You don't 
welcome me? 

Sylvia. [Just touching his hand with hers.] Yes. 

[Holding her cheek to be kissed. Lord Bel- 
hurst kisses her, she shrinks away. 

Lord B. [In alarm.] How cold you are ! 
Sylvia. Yes. [Shivers.] It is cold to-night. [Touches 
her hearty All cold. 

84 



Lord B. [ Trying to draw her to bench.'] Come and sit 
with me. 

Sylvia. No, father, not to-night. I want to be alone 
and to think. 

Lord B. \_Growing horror at her strange demeanour^ 
Oh, my child ! But I have not seen you — talked with 
you for so long ! And you wish to leave me ? 

Sylvia. [Regarding him coldly.] I don't know. \_Breaks 
off.] To-night I [Abruptly.] How can you under- 
stand ? For my mother — did you understand her ? 

Lord B. Your mother ! What is it you say ? 

Sylvia. No, you did not understand her. You let her 
pine away, for want of sympathy ! 

Lord B. [In deep grief ^ Sylvia, you don't know what 
you are saying — the cruelty of your words. 

Sylvia. Yes — but you were cruel to her. 

Lord B. I cruel to your mother ? 

Sylvia. Yes. He said so. He told me all you had 
hidden from me. 

Lord B. He ! Whom do you mean ? 

Sylvia. Dr. Tregenna. 

Lord B. [Amazed^ Dr. Tregenna has told you ? 

Sylvia. [More excited.] He has revealed to me what 
you — you, father — had concealed in the darkness. Oh, 
my mother ! how sad she was ! How she sat hour after 
hour, day after day, longing, desiring, and you — [turning 
on him almost fiercely] — what could you do ? What could 
you give her ? Nothing. Her soul — my mother's soul 
— cried for love, for the food a woman must have, or die. 
And she died — she died — she died ! [ Weeping. Lord 
Belhurst stands as if petrified with horror. Pointing 
on ground^ Can't you see her lying there, dead — dead, 
with her white face and her staring eyes ? [Catching at 
his arm.] There ! there ! She's looking at us — she's 
looking — Oh ! 

85 



\_Shrieks, and shrinks away to bench, on which 
she falls, covering her face with her hands. 

Enter Dr. Tregenna as if in search of someone. On see- 
ing Lord Belhurst he, not seeing SYLVIA, conies 
forward, courteously holding out his hand. 

Tregenna. My dear Lord Belhurst, I have been 
searching for you. 

Lord Belhurst passively allows Dr. Tre- 
genna to take his hand. 
From what you told me I feared you would be late. 

Lord B. Feared ! You say you feared that ? 

Tregenna. Yes. But I hardly thought — \_glancing 
round"] — I'm afraid everyone has gone. 

Lord B. All the better. 

Tregenna. The music is silent. 

Lord B. Then you and I can speak to each other 
without fear of interruption. I have come late as you 
say, but not, I hope, too late to see my daughter ? 

[^Watching Dr. TREGENNA closely. 

Tregenna. [ Takes out his watch.] I am sorry — very 
sorry — to have to say that I fear 

Lord B. I can't see her, eh ? 

Tregenna. She was fatigued — I dared not keep her 
up. She went to her rooms some time ago. 

Lord B. How long ago ? 

Tregenna. By this time she should have gone to rest. 

Lord B. Is she better? 

Tregenna. Better by far — calmer, brighter. 

Lord B. Liar ! liar ! [Dr. Tregenna movement of 
quick surprise^ I have seen my daughter. 

Tregenna. [^Movement.] Ah ! To-night ? 

Lord B. To-night. 

Tregenna. \R.ecovering calm.] Then you can confirm 

86 



my verdict, that she has greatly changed under my 
care. 

Lord B. \Suddenly grasping him by the arm."] Changed ! 
Changed ! Look ! [He makes Dr. Tregenna turn so that 
he can see SYLVIA, who is weeping^ Changed — my God ! 
— yes. {Facing Dr. TREGENNA /«//.] You shall give an 
account to me for this. 

Tregenna. Because Miss Wynford varies in mood ? 

Lord B. Because she shrinks from her own father you 
shall tell me what you have told her ? 

Tregenna. I ! What should I tell Miss Wynford ? 

Lord B. What she should never have known ; her 
mother's 

[Stopping short, overcome by passionate emotion. 

Tregenna. [Harshly^ Her mother's misery with you ! 
Ah! 

Lord B. You dare to 

Tregenna. [With growing passion.^ Her mother's grief 
and growing melancholy ; the tears that were ever in her 
eyes ; the clouds that came creeping, creeping down on 
her soul ; the fierce regret for a base deed — that ate into 
her heart like a canker — deeper, deeper, till the heart 
broke — and she died. 

Lord B. Regret for a base deed ? What deed ? Who 
are you that dares to say such things to me ? 

Tregenna. [Bursting into laughter^ Only Dr. Tregenna, 
Lord Belhurst, only Dr. Tregenna, who worships 
nothing in the world but knowledge — nothing, nothing 
in all the world. Ha ! ha ! ha ! 

Lord B. [Gazing at him as if overwhelmed by his 
outbreak.'] Rainham — Rainham — he must know — he 
shall tell me! 

Tregenna. Rainham — he is not here. And if he 
were 

12 87 



Lord B. Aye ! if he were ? 

Tregenna. \_Indifference.'\ Ask him then — ask him, 
with all my heart ! 

Lord B. \^Calling.~\ Dr. Rainham ! 

\_Gesture, summoning him. 
Tregenna. \_Movement.'\ What ! 

Enter Dr. Rainham. 

So he is here, it seems ! [Ai Dr. Rainham.] My old 
friend ! Spying upon me ! 

Lord B. Rainham ! 

Rain. Yes. 

Lord B. {Indicating Dr. TREGENNA.] Tell me — why 
— why is this man my enemy ? 

[Dr. Rainham is silent, looking from Lord 
Belhurst to Dr. Tregenna. 

Tregenna \Taiinting Dr. Rainham.] You don't 
answer, Rainham ? You were always reticent. 

Lord B. [7<? Dr. Rainham.] You know — I see you 
know. Why is this man, who was, till I consulted him 
about my daughter, a stranger to me, my enemy ? 

Rain. \Greatly embarrassed^ I — I cannot — really — 
Lord Belhurst. \_Half turning as if to go. 

Tregenna. I — I am no enemy of Lord Belhurst's. 
Tell him so, Rainham, my old student friend. 

Lord B. [^Growing determination. '\ I will know all ! 
This man — this stranger — has taken my daughter into 
his care to wreck my peace ; to take from me the heart 
of the one being whom I love ; to turn the daughter 
against the father ; to transform beauty into the pale 
vacancy of — ah ! Who is he, Rainham ? Who is this 
man ? 

Tregenna. [ TauntingDr. Rainham bitterly.'] Who am I, 

88 



Rainham, my old friend ? Do you know ? For the sake 
of our past together, our wild, happy, student days — 
[laughing] — say, say if I should be this man's enemy! 

Rain. [As if pressed beyond endurance.] Tregenna, you 
go too far ! 

Tregenna. What ? What ? Can you say nothing. 

Rain. I will say all. [To Lord Belhurst.] Lord 
Belhurst 

Tregenna. [Perceiving that'Dv. Rainham is really about 
to speak.] Ah ! [Sudden change front sardonic banter to 
intense bitterness.'\ No, Rainham, I will say all — if it is to 
be said. [Turns on Lord Belhurst.] Why am I your 
enemy ? Because I — even I — cold, caustic seeker after 
the secrets of science as I am — because I too, like all 
men, have known how to love ! 

Lord B. To love ! 

Tregejina. The woman who became your wife. 

Lord B. [Movement.] Helen! You ? 

Tregenna. Helen, yes, I loved her. Now do you know 
who I am ? [Lord BELHURST silently gazes in tohis 
face.] I am the penniless ship's doctor, whom the sea 
kept in its wintry arms while you wooed my love ! I 
am the man who has learned the terrible secrets of 
the brain in striving to unlearn the terrible secrets 
of the heart. 

Lord B. [Awed.] You — but I never knew I She 
never told me ! 

Tregenna. [Not heeding^ I never sought a revenge. 
But Fate interceded for me. 

[Turning towards the place where Sylvia is sitting. 

Lord B. [In horror^ My child ! I understand ! 

Tregenna. Yes, you understand — now. 

[ Watching SYLVIA. 

Lord B. Sylvia ! My child ! My darhng ! Come 
with me ! Come home ! It is I — your father ! 

89 



Sylvia. [^Starting up. '] My father — ah! \_Cry.'\ Don't 
touch me ! You killed my mother ! \Catching sight of 
Dr. Tregenna.] Don't let him touch me! Don't let 
him come near me ! 

[ With a wild cry she rushes to Dr. TREGENNA, 
and falls, as if fai7iting, against his breast. 

Curtain. 



90 



ACT V. 

Scene. — Same as Act III. A lamp on Dr. Tregenna's 
table sheds a faint light. 

[Bill Burge discovered, with an air as of one 
attentive and on the watch for something. 
Voices heard in garden. Bill Burge looks 
for a moment out of window, then catches up 
an Indian knife that is lying on the table, 
and hides it in his breast. 

Enter Dr. Tregenna from garden, supporting Sylvia, 
who leans almost helplessly upon him, Dr. Rainham 
and Lord Belhurst following. Dr. Tregenna 
places Sylvia on the sofa, where she falls back in 
a half-conscious condition. 

Tregenjia. You can leave, Burge. I will ring for 
you when I want you. \Exit BuRGE. 

[Lord Belhurst and Dr. Tregenna stand 
facing one another for a moment in silence. 

LordB. [ Turning passionately on Dr. TREGENNA.] Again 
I ask you, why have you done this thing? And to me — to 
me who have never heard your name, who never knew 
of your existence till I sought your aid for my unhappy 
daughter ! 

Tregenna. Unhappy now — yes. And you thought her 
unhappy — ill in mind when first I saw her, dancing in 
the light, and in the dawn of her love. 

Lord B. Thought her ill ! But — she was ill. 

Tregenna. She was well then. 

\He looks at SYLVIA with a cold smile. 

91 



Lord B. \In horror^ And I gave her to you ! 

Tregenna. Yes, so freely — so eagerly. You were 
generous, Lord Belhurst. 

Lord B. And you. Are you a fiend, then ? I say 
again, I never did you injury ! I 

Tregenna. [^htierposing bitterly.'] Is it no injury to 
steal from youth its birthright of happiness ? Is it no 
injury to turn a heart that is all love into a heart that is 
full of bitterness ? 

Lord B. Bitterness — to me ? 

Tregenna. To you — and through you, to all men — to 
humanity ! Do you dare to sit in judgment upon me ! 

Lord B. [ With impressive earnestness^ I sit in judg- 
ment on no man. It is you — a stranger — who have 
condemned me, who have robbed me, who have blighted 
my life and \_gesture to Sylvia] hers. 

Tregenna. As you blighted mine, when you robbed 
me of the woman I loved. As you blighted mine when 
you turned the ardour of my heart and brain to the 
dark and engrossing service of science. 

Lord B. \^Passion^ If I were dying I would say — as 
to my very God — I never knew of even your existence 
till all London was ringing with your name. 

Tregenna. \Scruti71izing him.'] You never heard of 
Helen's distant lover ? Of the lover who was on the sea ? 

Lord B. Never. 

Tregenna. You never knew that her heart was given 
before she met you ? 

Lord B. Never. 

yPanse — during which Dr. TREGENNA ^^^-^.y /«^^ 
Lord Belhurst's eyes as if to read his soul. 

Tregenna. I believe you ! Yes, I believe you ! And 

now \_Leaning over Sylvia, 

Lord B. Now — is it too late ? 

92 



Rain. Tregenna, is it too late ? Has the time indeed 
gone by ? 

Tregenna. Not yet ! Not yet ! \_Motions them hack. 
Makes passes over Sylvia, etcT^ In her sleep, she is 
passing from me. You — \To Lord Belhurst] — all 
will know it when she wakes. 

Lord B. Anson ! Ah, poor fellow ! He is longing — 
waiting. 

Tregenna. Waiting ! Here ? 

Lord B. Yes ; for he, too, loves. Dr. Tregenna. 

Tregenna. Then — let him see her when she wakes, 
Oh, let the whole world see her now ? 

Lord B. [r<3 Dr. Rainham.] If it is as he says 

Rain. If it is — yes. But if it is not ? 

Tregenna. It shall be. [^Exit Dr. Rainham to garden. 

Lord B. [ Who has accompanied Dr. Rainham to win- 
dow, retjirning softly^ How chilly the air becomes ? Or 
is it my fancy ? It seems to forbode some evil. 

\Shuddering. 

Tregen7ia. It is the dawn coming. 

Lord B. Dawn ! They say death often comes with 
the dawn. 

Tregenna. Death — yes ! The tide of life ebbs low 
between darkness and light — what of it ? 

Lord B. \_Looking towards Sylvia.] She lies so still. 
If — if death should be coming to her through the cold 
and the darkness. 

Tregenna. Ah ! that darkness ! From which every- 
thing emerges — to which everything returns ! Why 
should we fear it ! I, at least, will not. 

Lord B. [With deep anxiety^ But — but my child — 
her future ! 

Tregenna. She will awake ! Yes, she shall have her 
full days of beauty. 

Lord B. Thank God that it be so. 

93 



Tregenna. \As if scarcely aware <7/Lord Belhurst's 
presence7\ Helen, her mother, almost lives again in her. 
She shall have her full days of beauty. What am I, to 
take them from her — or from anyone ? 

[Sylvia moves slightly. 

Lord B. \_Breathlessly.'\ She is stirring ! 

Tregenna. [Recalled to alertness. Sylvia moves again.'\ 
It is so ! [Moves back slightly. 

Lord B. You are going ? 

Tregenna. Would you not desire it ? 

Lord B. But — when she wakes ? 

Tregenna. She will see you by her side. 

Lord B. Ah ! Yes ; and she will shrink from me 
again. I cannot bear it ! I cannot bear it ! 

Tregenna. Hush! Stay and see — see whether, even 
now, already, she is not nearer to the light, and to the 
beautiful days. 

\He looks almost tenderly down on SYLVIA, 
then moves away, and eventually goes softly to 
the window, where he stands with bent heady 
a very pale ghostly light of scarcely perceptible 
dawn falling upon him ; Lord Belhurst 
watching Sylvia with intense anxiety. 

Sylvia. [Moving and stretching forth her arms as if to 
seek help.'] Ah ! [Deep shuddering sigh. 

Lord B. [In a whisper.'] Sylvia ! 

Sylvia. [Half raising herself up, looks round slowly^ 
How dark it is ! and how still. Is it night ? Yes, 
night, always night ! [Lord BELHURST, with a move- 
ment towards her, arrested as she again begins to speak. 
Sitting up.] I can't remember. I can't remember 
anything ! 

Lord B. [At back] Sylvia ! 

Sylvia. [Starting.] Was that someone speaking to 
me ? 

94 



Lord B. \_Looking as if for assistance towards Dr. 
Tregenna.] Dr. Tregenna ! 

[Dr. Tregenna turns, and makes him an im- 
perative sign to be silent. 
Sylvia. Who was that ? I'm not alone ! \Raising 
her voice. Who — I say who ? 

\Turns and sees Lord Belhurst, who stands 
as if timid and abashed, half stretching forth 
his hands to her. 
Lord B. My child ! My Sylvia ! 
Sylvia. [ With a cry of joy, and springing up^ Oh ! 
my father ! 

\She sinks back on sofa, but holding out her 
arms to Lord Belhurst. 
Lord B. My child ! My child ! 

\^He falls on his knees beside her. 
Sylvia. \Throwing her arms round him.'] Father! 
Father! 

[Dr. Rainham is seen at back, trying to restrain 
Colonel Anson. 
Rain. [To Colonel Anson.] No — no — wait. 
Col. A. [ Breaking from him.] Let me go ! 

[^Ne rushes into room, passing Dr. TREGENNA 
at the window without recognition. 
Lord B. Anson ! 

Col. A. I couldn't wait! — I couldn't, Sylvia! 
Rain. [Following.] Is she conscious — herself? 

[Lord Belhurst takes Dr. Rainham by the 
arm, and withdraws slightly with him, leav- 
ing Sylvia and Colonel Anson together. 
Col. A. Sylvia, oh, Sylvia ! [Sylvia cries out his 
name.] You will come now ! You will come away to 
those who love you ? 

Sylvia. Yes. Why should I not ? 

13 95 



Col. A. When last I asked you, Sylvia, you would 
not. You wished to stay. Don't you remember ? 

Sylvia. Here ! \^Looking at room.'] Yes — I begin to — 
you were there — standing — and he — [pointing- to writing- 
table] — he sat there, looking at us. 

Col. A. [Reproachfully.] And you chose to stay with 
him ? 

Sylvia. No. 

Col. A. You say No, Sylvia? 

Sylvia. Oh, I didn't choose ! It was he — he chose 
that I should stay ! I remember now ! I seem to have 
been in the night, bound and borne onwards. 

Col. A. Yes, yes ! 

Sylvia. I could not tell where I was going. Only 
there was no light anywhere. The way was sad, so sad. 
And I had to go. Why was that ? 

Col. A. You could not choose. [Darting a fierce look 
towards Dr. Tregenna.] Ah ! 

Sylvia. [Following his look.] What — he is here ! 

[Shrinks to Colonel Anson. Lord BelhursT 
a7id Dr. Rainham coming forward. Dr. 
Rainham passes by Dr. Tregenna. 

Tregenna [To Dr. Rainham.] Are you satisfied now, 
sceptic ? Does the cure strike you as nearly complete ? 
[Dr. ^MY^YiSM pauses as if about to reply. Stcdden violence.] 
Ah! What matters it ? Go! go! go! [ExitTir. Rainham. 

Sylvia [7<7 Lord BELHURST.] Father, take me away ! 
Oh, take me home ! 

Lo7'd B. [Assuming deliberately a calm and cheerful 
manner.] Yes, we will go home. Come, Sylvia. 

[Dr. Tregenna watching. 

Col. A. [Near door.] Yes, come, Sylvia. 

[Dr. Tregenna comes toward her, holding out 
his hand with a gesture almost imploring. 
Sylvia shrinks back a little towards the door. 

96 



Sylvia. yPutting out her hand as if to ward off a dan- 
ger^ No ! No ! 

Tregentia. You will not even say farewell to your 
gaoler now that he has given you your freedom ? 

Sylvia. My gaoler ! Oh, yes ; you are he ! 

\Hand on door. 

Tregenna. [With profound sadness.'\ And yet he loved 
his captive. 

Sylvia. [Startled.'] Loved ! You — loved — me ? 

Tregenna. [Bows his head in silence. After a pause, 
looking up."] Will you not say farewell now ? [Sylvia 
makes an impulsive movement towards him, looks up into 
his eyes, hesitates a moment in silence ; then, as if horror- 
stricken, and fearing to come again under Dr. Tregenna's 
spell, she shrinks back without a word, opens the door 
and exit, keeping her eyes fastened upon Dr. Tregenna 
to the last. Exeunt Lord Belhurst and Colonel Anson, 
Dr. Tregenna stands nmsing for a few seconds after their 
departure.'] Ah, I have thought to play with the souls 
of the world, as a man plays with lions. I have thought 
to tame, to torture, because I have been torn [touching 
his breast], lacerated, tortured. A soul wounded me ! 
I would wound others in my unquiet search after 
knowledge — in my unquiet search after love. 

[ Then, with a shrug of the shoulders, as of a 
mafi who constrains himself to the dismissal of 
painful thoughts, he approaches the writing- 
table, strikes the bell, and, seating himself 
in his chair begins to turn over the papers 
lying before him. 

Enter Bill Burge. He advances at first in his usual 
sullen manner ; then, noticing that Dr. Tregenna'S 
attention is fixed upon the papers, he approacJies with a 
stealthierstep, his hand seeking the haft of his concealed 

97 



weapon. He is within a yard or two of the table 
when Dr. Tregenna looks quietly up. BiLL BURGE 
immediately stops dead. 
Tregenna. [In an indifferent mood."] You may go to bed, 
Burge. \_His eyes are fixed upon him, and BILL BURGE 
moves a step or two towards the door.'\ Stop ! You may as 
well uncover the birds before you go. [Bill Burge 
walks to the aviary and Jlings back its green baize cover. 
Dr. Tregenna unconsciously watching him, Bill Burge 
once walks a few paces towards the door, tiWDx. TREGENNA 
rises and approaches the aviary, when Bill Burge, relieved 
from the control of his gaze, again halts. Dr. TREGENNA, to 
birds.~\ Dawn ! My little friends, dawn ! Another day has 
begunforus! [Af ter a pause, in a dull, weary tone. ~\ Another 
day ! [ Turns and sees Bill Burge.] Didn't you hear me, 
Burge ? I told you you might go to bed. \_Seats himself at 
the table and shading his eyes with his haiid, again falls 
into a reverie. Silence, broken only by a faint occasional 
chirp from the half-awakened birds. Bill Burge, whose 
mamier has become more and more wild and strange, begins 
to pace swiftly and noiselessly up and down after the manner 
of acaged wild beast. D r. TREGENNA /£><?/&.? z^/, and, discover- 
ing that the man is still in the room, pushes back his chair 
witha sudden moveme7it and gazes fixedly at him.\ Oho! My 
wild beast is restless to-night ! There is mischief brew- 
ing ! \_Rises and slowly moves a pace or two towards BILL 
Burge ; then, in a voice of command^ What do you mean 
by this ? Go to bed this instant ! [Bill Burge retreats a 
step or two ttnder his gaze, but upoji Dr. Tregenna turning 
his back as though to resume his seat. Bill Burge draws 
the knife and is about to rush forward, when Dr. TREGENNA 
suddenly faces about, arid seeing the weapon, strides rapidly 
towards Bill Burge, till the two men are at arm's length. 
With arms beJiindhis back and breast unprotected, but with 
gaze fixed with stern determination upon Bill Burge'S 

98 



face.'\ Drop that knife, brute ! Drop it ! [^Gazing 
upon him as if spell-bound, Bill BuRGE'sy?«^^r^ slowly 
unclasp and the knife falls to the groujid. With a fierce 
laugh of triumph."] Ha ! ha ! I knew it ! I knew it ! 

Back to your den, tiger ! Back to your 

\^He places his two hands roughly on Bill 
Burge's shoulders, as though to push him 
from the room. With a savage growl. Bill 
BURGE springs upon him, and grasping him 
by the throat, forces him backwards upon the 
sofa. His back is turned towards the audi- 
ence, and while Dr. Tregenna's hands are 
seen co7ivulsively grasping Bill Burge's 
wrists, his face is concealed. There is a 
pause of half-a-minute, broken only by the 
heavy breathing of the murderer and the chirp 
of the birds. At the expiration of this inter- 
val, Bill Burge lifts Dr. Tregenna by 
m,ain force from the sofa, holds him for an 
instant, and then, loosed from his grasp, the 
lifeless body falls heavily to the ground. Bill 
Burge stands motionless for a moment, and 
then — always in absolute silence — creeps 
stealthily from the room. The light of the 
growing daw7i falls upon the Doctor's corpse, 
and the birds burst into a chorus of song. 

Curtain. 



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